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CIHM/ICMH 

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1 
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Th«  copy  filmad  h«r«  hat  b—n  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  ganarosity  of: 

York  Univeriity 
Toronto 
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Tha  imagas  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
possibia  considaring  tha  condition  and  lagibiiity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
niming  contract  spacifications. 


Originai  copias  in  printad  papar  eovars  ara  flimad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  lllustratad  impras- 
slon,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  approprlata.  All 
othar  originai  copias  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
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sion,  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  lllustratad  imprassion. 


Tha  last  racordad  frama  on  aach  microflcha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  -^  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  ▼  (moaning  "END"), 
whichavar  applias. 


L'axamplaira  filmA  fut  raproduit  grica  A  la 
gAnirositi  da: 

York  University 
Toronto 
Scott  Library 

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plus  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattatA  da  I'axampialra  fiimA,  at  an 
conformity  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 

Laa  axamplairaa  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  9n 
papiar  aat  imprimia  sont  filmis  an  commandant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarmlnant  soit  par  la 
darniira  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'Imprassion  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Tous  laa  autras  axamplairas 
originaux  sont  filmte  an  comman9ant  par  la 
pramlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'Imprassion  ou  d'illustration  at  an  tarmlnant  par 
la  darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  taila 
amprainta. 

Un  daa  symbolaa  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
darnlAra  imaga  da  chaqua  microflcha,  salon  la 
cas:  la  symbola  -^  signifia  "A  SUIVRE",  la 
symbols  ▼  signifia  "FIN". 


Maps,  platas,  charts,  ate,  may  bt'  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thosa  'coo  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  included  in  ona  axposura  ara  filmad 
beginning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  cornar,  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framas  as 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  illustrata  tha 
mathod: 


Las  cartas,  planchas,  tablaaux,  etc.,  pauvant  Atra 
filmte  A  das  taux  da  rAduction  dlff Arants. 
Lorsqua  la  documant  ast  trop  grand  pour  Atra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  clichA.  il  ast  filmA  A  partir 
da  I'angia  supAriaur  gaucha,  da  gaucha  A  droita, 
at  da  haut  an  baa,  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'Imagas  nAcassaira.  Las  diagrammas  suivants 
illustrant  la  mAthoda. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

!      4 

5 

6 

A   TALE    OF   ACADIE. 


BY 


IIRNRY    WAT:)SW0RTII    LONGFELLOW. 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOU,    REED,    AND    FIELDS. 

MOCCCI,. 


i  ' ' 


EVANGELINE 


'■■ill 


ILLUSTRATED 


I 

I  ii 

i  si 


WITH  FOin'Y-FIVK  KNGllAVINCiS  ON  WOOD, 


rilUM  DESIGNS  1!Y  .TANK  ll.  BENIl.VM,  ISTUKET  FOSTEU,  AND  JOHN  OILUEUT. 


1 
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Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  by 

H.     W.    LoNGFKLLOW, 

ill  ihc  Clerk's  Oflito,  of  tho  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


■'ll^ 


if 


EVANGELINE 


PART    THE    FIRST. 


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LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


EVANGELINE. 

PART  THE  FIRST. 

I.  "  The  murmuring  pines  and  the  hemlocks, 

Bearded  with  moss,  and  in  garments  green." 


uisiiiaNiiu  uv       r/M<u 


lilUKET  FOSTKU.         1 


1 


II.  "  Waste  arc  those  pleasant  farms,  and  the  farmers  for  ever  departed."        Biuket  Fostkk.      2 

III.  ••  Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest,  and  the  children 

Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended  to  bless  them."  Birket  Fostku.      3 


IV.  "  Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  God's  benediction  upon  her . ' ' 


JaneE.  Bknuam.    G 


V.  "  Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house  of  the  farmer 
Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding  the  sea." 


BiKKET  FosTEn.       7 


VI.  "  Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  was  the  well  with  its  moss-grown 

Bucket,  fastened  with  ii-on,  and  near  it  a  trough  for  the  horses."  Birket  Fostkr.      8 


VII.  "  Many  a  youth  as  he  knelt  in  the  church  and  opened  his  missal. 
Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  the  saint  of  his  deepest  devotion ." 


iA.  •;  E.  Ben  HAM.    9 


1 


i 


VIII.  "Father  Fellcian,  priest  and  pedagogue  both  in  the  village,  had 
taught  them  their  letters 
Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns  of  the  church  and  the 
plain  song." 


JaneE.  Benuam.  10 


IX.  "There  at  the  door  they  stood  with  wondering  eyes  to  behold  him 
Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as  a  plaything." 


Biuket  Foster.     11 


X.  "  Oft  in  the  barns  they  climbed  to  the  populous  nests  on  the  rafters."  Birket  Foster.    12 


iv  M«T  OF    ILLUSTIIATIONH. 

XI.  "Foremost,  beiiriiiK  the  bell,  Eviingeline'H  beiiutiful  heiler. 

Proud  of  her  snow-white  hide,  and  the  ribbon  that  waved  from  lu-r 
collar." 


liliiiluNED  l.v      I'AUK 


MlltKKT  FOHTEll.       13 


XII.  "  I-ate,  with  the  rising  moon,  returned  the  wains  from  the  niarMhes, 

Laden  with  briny  hay,  that  lllled  the  air  with  its  odour."  IJiKKKr  Footkh.     I  j 

XIII.  *' '  Not  80  tlihiketh  the  folk  in  the  village,'  said,  warmly,  the  blaekHmith, 

Shaking  his  head,  as  in  doubt."  .roiiN  Giuikht.      1H 

XIV.  "  Move  than  u  hinidrcd 

Cbildi'en's  children  rode  on  his  knee,  and  heard  his  great  watch  tick."  Joun  Gii.bkkt.     2U 


XV.  "  In  friendly  couteutiou  the  old  men 

Laughed  at  each  lucky  hit,  or  unsuccessful  mana-uvre." 


loHN  GlI.BKUT.        24 


XVl»  "iMany  u  farewell  word  and  sweet  good-night  on  the  door-step 

Lingui'ed  long  in  Evangeline's  heart,  and  filled  it  with  gladness."  .Iank  E.  Bkniiam.  2j 

XVII.  "  For  Evangeline  stood  among  the  guests  of  her  father ; 

Bright  washer  face  with  smiles,  and  words  of  welcome  and  gladness 

Fell  from  her  beautiful  lips,  and  blessed  the  cup  OS  she  gave  it."         .TankE.  Benham.  27 

XVIII.  '•  Now  from  the  country  around,  from  the  farms  and  tlic  neighbouring 
hamlets, 
Came  in  their  holiday  dresses  the  blithe  Acadian  peasants."  Bfiikkt  Fostku.     28 


XIX.  "  MerrUy,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzying  dances 
Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  path  to  the  meadows.' 


BlKKEV  FOSI'KK.       Mi 


XI  "  Without,  in  the  churchyard. 

Waited  the  women.    They  stood  by  the  graves,  and  hung  on  the 

head-stones 
Garlands  of  autumn  leaves  and  evergreens  fresh  from  the  forest."     Biukkt  Fosteh.     31 

XXI.  "  Then,  all  forgetful  of  self,  she  wandered  into  the  village. 

Cheering  with  looks  and  words  the  disconsolate  hearts  of  the -women."  .TaneE.  Benham,  3-5 


xx: 


^^^^'  "  Marching  in  gloomy  procession 

Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  patient,  Acadian  farmers.' 


.IaneE.Benham.  U7 


XX>i 


LIHT    OK    ILLI'STHATIONS.  ▼ 

lICHKlltKn    111  lAllf. 

XXIIT.  "  LowiiiR  thoy  waited,  undloiipr,  nttlip  well-known  Imis  of  the  fmm-  ' 

yard 
Wuitedund  liiukcd  in  vuln  for  the  voice  and  the  huiidol'tho  inilkniuld,"  Hikkkt  Kostk.u,     lt» 

XXIV.  "  Suddenly  nwc  from  the  «outh  a  li(,'ht,  an  in  uiituinn  the  hlood-rcd 
Moon  climbs  the  crystal  wull»  of  heaven,  and  o'er  the  hori/oa 
Titun-likc  Huctchcs  its  hundred  hands  uiwn  mountain  and  meadow."     IUrkkt  t  ostkh  ,    i2 

XXV.  "  IIuvin(ir  the  i^laro  of  the  burning  vilhiBO  for  funeral  torchen, 

But  without  bell  («•  book,  they  buried  the  farmer  of  Grand  Pr(5."       Biukf.t  I'oviku.     4 J 

XXVI.  "  Then  rccommcnceil  once  more  the  stir  and  noise  of  cmbarkinK ; 

And  with  the  ebb  of  that  tide  tlie  Mhipu  sailed  out  of  the  harbour."     Uiukkt  Fostku.     40 


PART  THE  SECOND. 


XXVII.  "  Long  among  them  was  seen  a  maiden  who  waited  and  wandered. 

Lowly  and  meek  inspirit,  and  patiently  suffering  all  things."  .IaneK.  Bknuam.  47 

XXVllI.  "  Into  tho  golden  stream  of  the  broad  and  swift  Mississippi, 

Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed  by  Acadian  boatmen."        Birket  Fostku.     ')l 

XXIX.  "  Now  through  rushing  chutes,  among  green  islands,  where 
plume-like 
Cotton-trees  nodded  their  shadowy  crests,  they  swept  with  the 

current."  Biiiket  Fosteu.     o2 

XXX.  "  Lovely  the  moonlight  was  us  it  glancid  and  gleamed  on  the  water."    Biiiket  Foster.     5t3 


XXXI.  "  Resplendent  in  beauty,  the  lotus 

Lifted  her  golden  crown  above  tlic  heads  of  the  boatmen." 


Birket  Foster.     55 


XXXII.  "  Safely  their  boat  was  moored ;    and  scattered  about  on  tho 
greensward. 
Tired  witli  their  midnight  toil,  the  weary  travellers  slumbered."         Birket  Foster. 


^    I 


XXXIII,  "  Nearer  and  ever  nearer,  among  the  numberless  islands, 

Dai'ted  a  light,  s\\ift  boat,  that  sped  away  o'er  the  water." 


BiHKET  I'oster.     57 


i 


VI 


LIST   or    ILLUHTUATIONS. 


XXX rv,  "  The  hoimo  ItMclf  wiik  of  tlmberrt 

Ilcwn  from  tlie  eypioHH-trct',  anil  cunfiiUy  HtU'il  tDKctlurr." 


IIHIUNKII   UY  r4UII 


lIlUKn   roNTKU.      lio 


XXXV.  "HmUlunly  out  of  the  ki'uxh  the  Iohk  white  hoinx  of  the  cuttle 
Uose  like  flukoft  of  foiim  on  the  udvcrHC  currents  of  occim." 


BlUKBT  FoHTKIt.       fl'2 


XXXVI.    *' '  LoHK  live  Michucl,'  they  cried,  '  our  brave  Acudlan  mlnHtrvl !' 
Ah  they  bore  him  iiloft  in  triumphal  procession." 


Janr  K.  Hknham.  05 


BlUKKT  FUHYISU,       70 


XXXVII.  '*  With  horses  ond  guides,  and  companions, 

Gabriel  left  tlie  viUuge,  and  took  the  road  of  the  pruiries." 

^        *  !  ,        ''  ...        ■. 

XXXVIII.  "  Into  this  wonderful  land,  at  the  base  of  the  Ozark  mountains, 

Gabriel  far  had  entered,  with  hunters  and  trappers  behind  him."       Bikkkt  Fosteii.     71 


XXXIX.  "  Under  a  towering  oak,  that  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  village, 
•      '        Knelt  the  Black  Robe  chief  with  his  children." 


BlllKET  FoSTKIl.       70 


•    XL.  "  In  that  delightful  land  wWch  is  washed  by  the  Delaware's  waters,  •    . 

Guarding  in  sylvan  shades  the  name  of  Penn  the  apostle, 
Standson  the  bunks  of  its  beautiful  stream  the  city  he  founded."       Hiuket  Fosteu.     HO 


XLI.  "  Night  after  night,  when  the  world  was  asleep,  as  the  watchman 
repeated 
Loud,  through  the  gusty  streets,  that  all  was  well  in  the  city, 
High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the  light  of  her  taper." 


BiBKET  B'OSTEIt.      82 


XLII.  "  Day  after  day,  in  the  grey  of  the  dawn,  as  slow  through  the  suburbs 
Plodded  the  German  farmer,  with  flowers  and  fruits  for  the  market. 
Met  he  that  meek,  pule  face,  returning  home  from  its  wutchings."     .IaneE.Beniiam.  83 


XLIII.  .         '<■  Through  the  hush  that  succeeded 

^Vhi8pered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and  saint-like, 
'  Gabriel !  O  my  beloved !'  and  died  away  into  silence." 

XLIV.  "  Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  graves,  the  lovers  are  sleeping. 
Under  the  humble  walls  of  the  little  Catholic  churchyard, 
In  the  heart  of  the  city." 


Jane  E.  Benham.  87 


Birket  Foster.     88 


XLV.  "  Maidens  still  wear  their  Norman  caps  and  their  kirtles  of  homespun. 

And  by  the  evening  fire  repeut  Evangeline's  story."  Biuket  Fostek.     89 


? 


/ 


3  EVANGELINE. 

Tliis  is  the  forest  primeval ;  but  where  are  the  hearts  that  beneath  it 
Leaped  like  the  roc,  when  he  hears  in  the  woodland  the  voice  of  the 

huntsman  ? 
Where  is  the  thatch-roofed  village,  the  home  of  Acadian  farmers, — 
Men  whose  lives  glided  on  like  rivers  that  water  the  woodlands. 
Darkened  hj  shadows  of  earth,  but  reflecting  an  image  of  heaven  ? 
Waste  are  those  pleasant  farms,  and  the  farmers  for  ever  departed  ! 
Scattered  like  dust  and  leaves,  when  the  mighty  blasts  of  October 
Seize  them,  and  whiil  them  aloft,  and  sprinkle  them  far  o'er  the  ocean. 
Naught  but  tradition  remains  of  the  beautiful  village  of  Grand  Pre. 

Ye  who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and  endures,  and  is  i)aticnt, 
Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and  strength  of  wonuni's  devotion. 
List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung  by  the  pines  of  the  forest ; 
List  to  a  Tale  of  Love  in  Acadie,  liomc  of  the  happy. 


m 


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Lje,y^^Ai£Uxif^:--, 


I. 


In  the  Acadian  land,  on  tlie  shores  of  the  Basin  of  Minas, 
Distant,  secluded,  still,  the  little  village  of  Grand  Pre 
Lay  in  the  fruitful  valley.     Vast  meadows  stretched  to  the  eastward. 
Giving  the  village  its  name,  and  pastm-e  to  flocks  without  number. 
Dikes,  that  the  hands  of  the  farmers  had  raised  with  labour  incessant. 
Shut  out  the  tm'bulent  tides ;  but  at  stated  seasons  the  flood-gates 
Opened,  and  welcomed  the  sea  to  wander  at  will  o'er  the  meadows. 
West  and  south  there  were  fields  of  flax,  and  orchards  and  cornfields, 
Spreading  afar  and  unfenced  o'er  the  plain ;  and  away  to  the  northward 
Blomidon  rose,  and  the  forests  old,  and  aloft  on  the  mountains 
Sea-fogs  pitched  theii'  tents,  and  mists  fi:om  the  mighty  Atlantic 
Looked  on  the  happy  valley,  but  ne'er  from  their  station  descended. 


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EVANGELINE. 


There,  in  the  midst  of  its  farms,  reposed  the  Acadian  village. 
Strongly  built  were  the  houses,  with  frames  of  oak  and  of  chesnut, 
Such  as  the  peasants  of  Normandy  built  in  the  reign  of  the  Henries. 
Thatched  were  the  roofs,  with  dormer  windows;    and  gables 

projecting 
Over  the  basement  below  protected  and  shaded  the  door- way. 
There  in  the  tranquil  evenings  of  summer,  when  brightly  the  sunset 
Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes  on  the  cliimneys, 
Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white  caps,  and  in  kii'tles 
Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with  distaffs  spinning  the  golden 
Flax  for  the  gossiping  looms,  whose  noisy  shuttles  within  doors 
Mingled  their  sound  with  the  whir  of  the  wheels  and  the  songs  of  the 

maidens. 
Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest,  and  the  childi'en 
Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended  to  bless  them. 
Reverend  walked  he  among  them  ;  and  up  rose  matrons  and  maidens. 
Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  affectionate  welcome. 
Then   came  the  laboiu'ers  home  from  the  field  and  serenely  the 

Sim  sank 
Down  to  his  rest,  and  twilight  pi'evailed.     Anon  from  the  belfry 
Softly  the  Angelus  sounded,  and  over  the  roofs  of  the  ^'illage 
Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  incense  ascending. 
Rose  from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of  peace  and  contentment. 
Thus  dwelt  together  in  love  these  simple  Acadian  farmers, — 
Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.    Alike  were  they  free  from 
Fear,  that  reigns  with  the  tjTant,  and  envy,  the  vice  of  republics. 
Neither  locks  liad  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars  to  their  windows  ; 


EVANGELINE. 


But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and  the  hearts  of  the  ownei-s ; 
There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived  in  abundance. 


< 


Somewhat  apart  from  the  village,  and  nearer  the  Basin  of  Minas, 
Benedict  Bellefontaine,  the  wealthiest  farmer  of  Grand  Pre, 
Dwelt  on  his  goodly  acres ;  and  with  him,  directing  his  household. 
Gentle  Evangeline  lived,  his  child,  and  the  pride  of  the  village. 
Stal worth  and  stately  in  form  was  the  man  of  seventy  winters ; 
Hearty  and  hale  was  he,  an  oak  that  is  covered  with  snow-flakes ; 
White  as  the  snow  were  his  locks,  and  his  cheeks  as  brown  as  the  oak 

leaves. 
Fair  was  she  to  behold,  that  maiden  of  seventeen  summers. 
Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that  grows  on  the  thorn  by  the  wayside. 
Black,  yet  how  softly  they  gleamed  beneath  the  brown  shade  of  her 

tresses!  ' 

Sweet  was  her  breath  as  the  breath  of  kine  that  feed  in  the  meadows. 
When  in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to  the  reapers  at  noontide 
Flagons  of  home-brewed  ale,  ah !  fair  in  sooth  was  the  maiden. 
Fairer  was  she  when,  on  Smiday  mom,  while  the  bell  fi'om  its  turret 
Sprinkled  with  holy  sounds  the  air,  as  the  priest  with  his  hyssop 
Sprinkles  the  congregation,  and  scatters  blessings  upon  them, 
Down  the  long  street  she  ^)assed,  with  her  chaplet  of  bead"  and  her 

missal. 
Wearing  her  Norman  cap,  and  her  kirtle  of  blue,  and  the  ear-rings. 
Brought  in  the  olden  time  from  France,  and  since,  as  an  heir-loom. 
Handed  down  from  mother  to  child,  through  long  generations. 
But  a  celestial  brightness — a  more  ethereal  beauty — 


I 


KVANGKLINK. 


Shone  on  her  fuce  and  encircled  her  form,  when,  ufter  confession. 
Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  Cod's  benediction  upon  her. 


I 


When  she  had  passed,  it  seemed  like  the  ceasing  of  exquisite  music. 
Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house  of  the  farmer 
Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding  the  sea ;  and  a  shady 
Sycamore  grew  by  the  door,  with  a  woodbine  wreathing  around  it. 
Kudeh'  carved  was  the  porch,  with  seats  beneath;  and  a  foot-path 


« I 


KVANGEUXK. 


f  'ii  .:' 


Led  through  an  orchard  wide,  and  disappeared  in  tlie  meadow. 
Under  the  sycamore  tree  were  hives  overhung  by  a  pent-house, 
Such  as  the  traveller  sees  in  regions  remote  by  the  road-side, 
lUiilt  o'er  a  box  for  the  poor,  or  the  blessed  image  of  Mary. 
Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  was  the  well  with  its  moss-grown 
Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a  trough  for  the  horses. 
Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north,  were  the  barns  and  the 
farm-yard. 


I 


''  11 


1 


8  KVANGELINE. 

There  stood  the  broad-whcded  wains  and  the  nnticjuc  ploughs  and 

the  harrows ; 
There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep ;  and  there,  in  his  feathered  seraglio, 
Strutted  the  lordly  tui-key,  and  erowed  the  cock,  with  the  selfsame 
Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  penitent  Peter. 


( 


Bursting  with  hay  were  the  barns,  themselves  a  village.    In  each  one 
Far  o'er  the  gable  projected  a  roof  of  thatch ;  and  a  staircase, 
Under  the  sheltering  eaves,  led  up  to  the  odorous  corn-loft. 
There  too  the  dovecot  stood,  with  its  meek  and  innocent  inmates 
Mm'mming  ever  of  love ;  while  above  in  the  variant  breezes 
Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang  of  mutation. 

Thus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world,  the  farmer  of  Grand  VrO 
Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evangeline  governed  his  household. 


^ 


J 


n 


EVANGELINE. 


Many  a  youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  chui'ch  and  opened  his  missal, 
Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  the  saint  of  his  deepest  devotion  ; 
Happy  was  he  who  might  touch  her  hand  or  the  hem  of  her  garment ! 
Many  a  siutor  came  to  her  door,  by  the  darkness  befiiended, 
And  as  he  knocked,  and  waited  to  hear  the  sound  of  her  footsteps. 
Knew  not  which  beat  the  louder,  his  heart  or  the  knocker  of  iron  ; 
Or  at  the  joyous  feast  of  the  Patron  Saint  of  the  village, 
Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the  dance  as  he  whispered 


1 


10 


A,., 


KVANOELINE. 


Hiiniod  words  of  love,  that  seemed  a  part  of  tlic  music. 

But,  among  all  who  came,  younp;  Gabriel  only  was  welcome  ; 

Gabriel  Lajeunnesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  blacksmith, 

Who  was  a  mighty  man  in  the  village,  and  honom'cd  of  all  men  ; 

For  since  the  birth  of  time,  throughout  all  ages  and  nations, 

Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in  repute  by  the  people. 

Basil  was  Benedict's  friend.     Their  children  from  earliest  childhood 

Grew  up  together  as  brother  and  sister;  and  P'athcr  Felician, 


i 


\  - 


; 


KVANGELINE. 


a 


I'ricst  and  pedagogue  both  in  the  village,  had  taught  them  theii-  letters 
Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns  of  the  ehurch  and  the 

plain-song. 
But  when  the  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  daily  lesson  completed, 
Swiftly  they  hurried  away  to  the  forge  of  Basil  the  blacksmith. 
There  at  the  door  they  stood,  with  wondering  eyes  to  behold  him 
Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as  a  plaything. 


Nailing  the  shoe  in  its  place  ;  while  near  him  the  tiic  of  the  cart-wheel 
Lay  like  a  fiery  snake,  coiled  round  in  a  circle  of  cinders. 
Oft  on  autumnal  eves,  when  without  in  the  gathering  darkness 
Bm'sting  with  light  seemed  the  smithy,  thi'ougli  every  cranny  and 

crevice, 
Warm  by  the  forgo  within  they  watched  the  labouring  bellows, 
And  as  its  pantings  ceased,  and  the  sparks  exi)ired  in  the  ashes, 
Merrily  laughed,  and  said  they  were  nmis  going  into  the  chapel. 


1(1 « 

■il.V.1 


M 


KVANOELINK. 


Ott  on  HlcdgOB  in  winter,  tM  swift  us  the  swoop  of  the  cap;le, 
Down  the  hill-side  bounding,  they  glided  away  o'er  the  meadow. 
Oft  in  the  bams  they  climbed  to  the  populous  nests  on  the  rafters, 
Seeking  with  eager  eyes  that  wondrous  stone,  which  the  swallow 
Brings  &om  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  restore  the  sight  of  its  fledglings; 
Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the  nest  of  the  swallow ! 
Thus  passed  a  few  swift  years,  and  they  no  longer  were  childi'en. 
He  was  a  valiant  youth,  and  his  face,  like  the  face  of  the  morning. 
Gladdened  the  earth  with  its  light,  and  ripened  thought  into  action 
She  was  a  woman  now,  with  the  heart  and  hopes  of  a  woman. 
"  Sunshine  of  Saint  Eulalie"  was  she  called ;  for  that  was  the  sunshine 
Which,  as  the  farmers  believed,  would  load  their  orchards  with  apples ; 
She,  too,  would  bring  to  her  husband's  house  delight  and  abundance. 
Filling  it  full  of  love  and  the  ruddy  faces  of  children. 


II; 


KVANCJKLINK 


l.-i 


i 


u 


II. 


Now  had  the  season  returned,  when  the  nights  grow  colder  and  longer, 

And  the  retreating  sun  the  sign  of  the  Scorpion  enters. 

Bu'ds  of  passage  sailed  tlirough  the  leaden  air,  from  the  ice-bound, 

Desolate  northern  bays  to  the  shores  of  tropical  islands. 

Harvests  were  gathered  in  ;  and  wild  with  the  winds  of  September 

Wrestled  the  trees  of  the  forest,  as  Jacob  of  old  with  the  angel. 

All  the  signs  foretold  a  winter  long  and  inclement. 

Bees,  with  prophetic  instinct  of  want,  had  hoarded  their  honey 

Till  the  hives  overflowed ;  and  the  Indian  himters  asserted 

Cold  would  the  winter  be,  for  thick  was  the  fur  of  the  foxes. 

Such  was  the  advent  of  autumn.    Then  followed  that  beautiful  season, 

Called  by  the  pious  Acadian  peasants  the  Summer  of  All-Saints 


I  I 


i  „ 


14 


KVANdKMNi:. 


I'Mllcd  was  the  air  with  u  diramy  and  magical  light  ;  and  tlio  hmd- 

weapc 
TiUy  ns  it'  ncw-crcutcd  in  all  tho  fiVMlinc'ss  of  tliildhood. 
Peace  seemed  to  reign  u])()n  earth,  and  the  restless  heart  of  the  oeean 
Was  for  a  moment  consoled.     All  wounds  were  in  harmony  blended. 
Voices  of  eliildren  at  play,  the  crowing  of  cocks  in  the  farm-yards, 
Whir  of  wings  in  tlie  drowsy  uir,  and  the  cooing  of  i)igeons. 
All  were  subdued  and  low  as  the  murmius  of  love,  and  the  great  sun 
Looked  witli  the  eye  of  love  through  the  golden  vapours  around  him, 
While  ai'raycd  in  its  robes  of  russet  and  scarlet  and  yellow, 
IJright  with  the  sheen  of  the  dew,  each  glittering  tree  of  the  forest 
Flashed  like  the  plane-tree   the  Persian  adorned  with  mantles  and 

jewels. 


Now  recommenced  the  reign  of  rest  and  affection  and  stillness. 
Day  with  its  bm'den  and  heat  had  departed,  and  twilight  descenduig 
Brought  back  the  evening  star  to  the  sky,  and  the  herds  to  the 

home-stead. 
Pawing  the  ground  they  came,  and  resting  their  necks  on  each  other, 
And  with  thcu*  nostrils  distended  inlialing  the  Ireshness  of  evening. 
Foremost,  bearing  the  bell,  Evangeline's  beautiful  heifer. 
Proud  of  her  snow-wliite  hide,  and  the  ribbon  that  waved  from  her 

collar. 
Quietly  paced  and  slow,  as  if  conscious  of  himian  affection. 
Then  came  the  shepherd  back  with  his  bleating  flocks  from  the 

sea-side. 
Where    Avas   their   favouiite    pastme.      Behind   them  followed   the 

watch-dog. 


KVANOKMNK. 


1% 


I'utii'Jit,  full  of  iinportmuc,  mid  p^niiul  in  tlit'  pride  of  his  instinct, 
Walking  from  side  to  side  with  a  loidly  nil",  und  superbly 
Wiivin^  his  bushy  tail,  and  urpfin^  forward  the  strn^^'lers  ; 
Uef^ent  of  Hocks  was  ho  when  tlie  sheplu  rd  slept  \  \\\v\v  proteetoi', 
When  from  tlic  forest  at  niglit,  throu-'b  the  stmiy  bilencc,  the  wolves 
howled. 


■•  -^-ulii-.  Si.. 


-uPiL^^w',,, 


•f. 


frJfr^^ 


■•T>-^ 


Late,  with  the  risiuf^  moon,  returned  the  wains  from  the  marshes, 
Laden  with  briny  hav,  that  filled  the  aii*  with  its  odour. 
Cheerily  neighed  the  steeds,  with  dew  on  their  manes  and  their  fetlocks. 
While  aloft  on  their  shoulders  the  wooden  and  ponderous  saddles, 
Painted  with  brilliant  dyes,  and  adorned  with  tassels  of  crimson. 
Nodded  in  bright  array,  like  liollyhocks  heavy  with  blossoms. 


16 


EVANGELINE. 


Patiently  stood  the  cows  meanwhile,  and  yielded  their  udders 
Unto  the  milkmaid's  hand ;  whilst  loud  and  in  regular  cadenee 
Into  the  sounding  pail  the  foaming  streamlets  descended. 
liOwing  of  cattle  and  peals  of  laughter  were  heard  in  the  farm-yard, 
Echoed  back  by  the  barns.     Anon  they  sank  into  stillness ; 
Heavily  closed,  with  a  creaking  sound,  the  valves  of  the  barn-doors, 
llattled  the  wooden  bars,  and  all  for  a  season  was  silent. 


In-doors,  warm  by  the  ^nde-mouth  fu'eplace,  idly  the  farmer 
Sat  in  his  elbow-chair,  and  watched  how  the  flames  and  the  smoke- 
wreaths 
Struggled  together  like  foes  in  a  burning  city.     Behind  him, 
Nodding  and  mocking  along  the  wall,  with  gestiu'cs  fantastic, 
J  )artcd  his  own  huge  shadow,  and  vanished  away  into  darkness. 
Faces,  clumsily  carved  in  oak,  on  the  back  of  his  arm-chair 
Laughed  in  the  flickering  light,  and  the  jiewter  plates  oil  the  dresser 
Caught  and  reflected  the  flame,  as  shields  of  armies  the  sunshine. 
Fragments  of  song  the  old  man  sang,  and  carols  of  Cliristmas, 
Such  as  at  home,  in  the  olden  time,  his  fathers  before  him 
Sang  in  their  Norman  orchards  and  bright  Burgundian  vineyards. 
Close  at  her  father's  side  was  the  gentle  Evangeline  seated, 
Spinning  flax  for  the  loom,  that  stood  in  the  corner  behind  her. 
Silent  awhile  were  its  treadles,  at  rest  was  its  diligent  shuttle, 
AVhile  the  monotonous    drone  of   the   wheel,  like   the   drone   of  a 

bagpipe, 
Followed  the  old  man's  song,  and  united  the  fragments  together. 
As  in  a  church,  when  the  chant  of  the  choir  at  intervals  ceases. 


f 


i 


I 


il 


-^MM^.-JiL»'^^.i-4,^r  :nit^JtMTlf«:;dtu:A£ea>VnUiMaeMU^dlbiiB.^E3ai»^ 


:^'itn»!!i' ttir'.t .  iMt:i 


EVANGELINK. 


17 


Footfalls  are  heard  in  the  aisles,  or  words  of  the  priest  at  the  altar, 
So,  in  each  pause  of  the  song,  with  measured  motion  the  elock  clicked. 


II 


Thus  as  they  sat,  there  were  footsteps  heard,  and,  suddenly  lifted, 
Soimded  the  wooden  latch,  and  the  door  swung  back  on  its  hinges. 
Benedict  knew  by  the  hob-nailed  shoes  it  Avas  Basil  the  blacksmith. 
And  by  her  beating  heart  Evangeline  knew  who  was  with  him. 
"  Welcome!"  the  farmer  exclaimed,  as  their  footsteps  paused  on  the 

threshold. 
"  Welcome,  Basil,  my  friend  !  Come,  take  thy  place  on  the  settle 
Close  by  the  chimney-side,  which  is  always  empty  without  thee ; 
Take  from  the  shelf  overhead  thy  pipe  and  the  box  of  tobacco ; 
Never  so  much  thyself  art  thou,  as  when,  through  the  curling 
Smoke  of  the  pipe  or  the  forge,  thy  Mendly  and  jovial  face  gleams. 
Round  and  red  as  the  harvest  moon  tlirough  the  mist  of  the  marshes." 
Then,  with  a  smile  of  content,  thus  answered  Basil  the  Blacksmith, 
Taking  with  easy  au*  the  accustomed  seat  by  the  fireside : — 
"  Benedict  Bellefontaine,  thou  hast  ever  thy  jest  and  thy  ballad ! 
Fj\cr  in  cheerfuUest  mood  art  thou,  when  others  are  filled  with 
Gloomy  forebodings  of  ill,  and  sec  only  ruin  before  them. 
Happy  art  thou,  as  if  every  day  thou  hadst  picked  up  a  horseshoe." 
Pausing  a  moment,  to  take  the  pipe  that  Evangeline  brought  him. 
And  with  a  coal  from  the  embers  had  lighted,  he  slowly  continued : — 
"  Four  days  now  are  passed  since  the  English  ships  at  their  anchors 
Ride  in  the  Gaspereau's  mouth,  with  their  cannon  pointed  against  us. 
Wliat  their  design  may  be  is  unknown ;  but  all  are  commanded 
On  the  morrow  to  meet  in  the  church,  where  His  Majesty's  mandate 

D 


If. 


II    V 


18 


EVANGELINi:. 


Will  be  proclaimed  as  law  in  the  land.     Alas  !  in  the  meantime 

Many  siu-mises  of  evil  alarm  the  hearts  of  the  people." 

Then  made  answer  the  farmer : — "  Perhaps  some  friendlier  purpose 

Brings  these  ships  to  om'  shores.    Perhaps  the  harvests  in  England 

By  the  untimely  rains  or  untimelier  heat  liave  been  blighted, 

And  from  our  bursting  barns  they  would  feed  theii*  cattle  and  children." 


i 


I 


"  Not  so  thinketh  tlic  folk  in  the  village,"  said,  warmly,  the  blacksmith, 
Shaking  his  liead,  as  in  doubt ;  then,  heaving  a  sigh,  he  continued : — 


« 


i 


EVANGELINE. 


10 


i 


"  Louisbiu*g  is  not  forgotten,  nor  Beau  Sejour,  nor  Port  Koyal. 
Many  already  have  fied  to  the  forest,  and  lurk  on  its  outskirts, 
Waiting  with  anxious  hearts  the  dubious  fate  of  to-moiTow. 
Arms  have  been  taken  from  us,  and  warlike  weapons  of  all  kinds ; 
Nothing  is  loft  but  the  blacksmith's  sledge  and  the  scythe  of  the 

mower." 
Then  with  a  pleasant  smile  made  answer  the  jovial  farmer  : — 
"  Safer  are  we  unarmed,  in  the  midst  of  our  flocks  and  our  com  fields, 
Safer  within  these  peaceftil  dikes,  besieged  by  the  ocean, 
Than  were  our  fathers  in  forts,  besieged  by  the  enemy's  cannon. 
Fear  no  evil,  my  friend,  and  to-night  may  no  shadow  of  sorrow 
Fall  on  this  house  and  hearth ;  for  this  is  the  night  of  the  contract. 
Built  are  the  house  and  the  barn.    The  merry  lads  of  the  village 
Strongly  have  built  them  and  well ;  and,  breaking  the  glebe  round 

about  them. 
Filled  the  barn  with  hay,  and  the  house  with  food  for  a  twelvemonth. 
Rene  Leblanc  will  be  here  anon,  with  his  papers  and  inkhorn. 
Shall  we  not  then  be  glad,  and  rejoice  in  the  joy  of  our  children  ?  " 
As  apart  by  the  window  she  stood,  with  her  hand  in  her  lover's, 
Blusliing  Evangeline  heard  the  words  that  her  father  had  spoken, 
And  as  they  died  on  his  lips  the  worthy  notary  entered. 


I' 


1. 


^ 


KVANGELINE. 


III. 


Bent  like  a  labouiing  oar,  that  toils  in  the  siirf  of  the  oceaii, 
Bent,  but  not  broken,  by  age  was  the  fonii  of  the  notary  public ; 
Shocks  of  yellow  haii',  like  the  silken  floss  of  the  maize,  hung 
Over  his  shoulders ;  his  forehead  was  high ;  and  glasses  with  horn  bows 
Sat  astride  on  his  nose,  with  a  look  of  -v^nsdom  supernal. 
Father  of  twenty  children  was  he,  and  more  than  a  hundied 
Children's  childi'en  rode  on  his  knee,  and  heard  his  great  watch  tick. 


KVANOKLINK. 


81 


I 


/I 


•  a 


Four  lonpf  years  in   the   times   of  the   war   hud  he   languished  a 

captive, 
Suffering  much  in  an  old  French  fort  as  the  fnend  of  the  English. 
Now,  though  warier  grown,  without  all  guile  or  suspicion, 
Kipe  in  wisdom  was  he,  but  patient,  and  simple,  and  childlike. 
Ho  was  beloved  by  all,  and  most  of  all  by  the  children ; 
For  he  told  them  tales  of  the  Loup-garou  in  the  forest. 
And  of  the  goblin  that  came  in  the  night  to  water  the  horses, 
And  of  the  white  Letiche,  the  ghost  of  a  child  who  unchristened 
Died,  and  was  doomed  to  haunt  unseen  the  chambers  of  children ; 
And  how  on  Christmas  eve  the  oxen  talked  in  the  stable. 
And  how  the  fever  was  cured  by  a  spider  shut  up  in  a  nut-shell. 
And  of  the  marvellous  powers  of  four-leaved  clover  and  horseshoes, 
With  whatsoever  else  was  vn-it  in  the  lore  of  the  village. 
Then  up  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fii'eside  Basil  the  blacksmith, 
Knocked  from  his  pipe  the  ashes,  and  slowly  extending  his  right  hand, 
"Father  Leblanc,"  he  exclaimed,  "thou  hast  heard  the  talk  in  the 

village. 
And,  perchance,  canst  tell  us  some  news  of  these  ships  and  theii* 

errand." 
Then  with  modest  demeanom*  made  answer  the  notary  public : — 
"  Gossip  enough  have  I  heard,  in  sooth,  yet  am  never  the  wiser ; 
And  what  their  eiTand  may  be  I  know  not  better  than  others. 
Yet  am  I  not  of  those  who  imagine  some  evil  intention 
Brings  them  here,  for  we  arc  at  peace ;  and  why  then  molest  us  ?" 
"God's  name!"   shouted  the  hasty  and  somewhat  irascible  black- 

sniith : 


WKBMlJpiiillJpippia^j^'ii-v'.-., 


22 


KVANGELINE. 


"Must  we  in  all  things  look  for  the  how,  and  the  why,  and  the 

wherefore  ? 
Daily  injustice  is  done,  and  might  is  the  right  of  the  strongest ! " 
But,  without  heeding  his  warmth,  continiicd  th(>  notaiy  public  : — 
"Man  is  unjust,  but  God  is  just;  and  finally  justice 
Triumphs ;  and  well  I  remember  a  storj',  that  often  consoled  me. 
When  as  a  captive  I  lay  in  the  old  French  fort  at  Port  Iloyal. " 
This  was  the  old  man's  favourite  tale,  and  he  loved  to  repeat  it 
Whenever  neighbours  complained  that  any  injustice  was  done  them. 
"  Once  in  an  ancient  city,  whose  name  I  no  longer  remember, 
Raised  aloft  on  a  column,  a  brazen  statue  of  Justice 
Stood  in  the  public  square,  upholding  the  scales  in  its  left  hand. 
And  in  its  right  a  sword,  as  an  emblem  that  justice  presided 
Over  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  the  hearts  and  homes  of  the  people. 
Even  the  birds  had  built  their  nests  in  the  scales  of  the  balance, 
Having  no  fear  of  the  sword  that  flashed  in  the  sunshine  above  them. 
But  in  the  course  of  time  the  laws  of  the  land  were  corrupted ; 
Might  took  the  place  of  right,  and  the  weak  were  oppressed,  and 

the  mighty 
Ruled  with  an  iron  rod.     Then  it  chanced  in  a  nobleman's  palace 
That  a  necklace  of  pearls  was  lost,  and  ere  long  a  suspicion 
Fell  on  an  orphan  girl  who  lived  as  maid  in  the  household. 
She,  after  form  of  trial  condemned  to  die  on  the  scaflbld, 
Patiently  met  her  doom  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of  Justice, 
As  to  her  Father  in  heaven  her  innocent  spirit  ascended, 
Lo !  o'ei  the  city  a  tempest  rose ;  and  the  bolts  of  the  thunder 
Smote  the  s<^«tuc  of  bronze,  and  hui'led  in  wrath  from  its  left  hand 


EVANGELINE. 


a;{ 


Down  on  the  pavement  below  the  clattering  scales  of  the  balance, 
And  in  the  hollow  thereof  was  found  the  nest  of  a  magpie, 
Into  whoso  clay-built  walls  the  necklace  of  pearls  was  inwoven." 
Silenced,  but  not  convinced,  when  the  story  was  ended,  the 

blacksinitli 
Stood  like  a  man  who  fain  would  speak,  but  findeth  no  language ; 
And  all  his  thoughts  congealed  into  lines  on  his  face,  as  the  vapours 
Freeze  in  fantastic  shapes  on  the  window-panes  in  the  winter. 


' 


Then  Evangeline  lighted  the  brazen  lamp  on  the  table. 
Filled,  till  it  overflowed,  the  pewter  tankard  with  home-brewed 
Nut-brown  ale,  that  was  famed  for  its  strength  in  the  village 

of  Grand  Pre ; 
While  from  his  pocket  the  notary  drew  his  papers  and  ink-horn, 
Wrote  with  a  steady  hand  the  date  and  the  age  of  the  parties, 
Naming  the  dower  of  the  bride  in  flocks  of  sheep  and  in  cattle. 
Orderly  all  tilings  proceeded,  and  duly  and  well  were  completed, 
And  the  great  seal  of  the  law  was  set  like  a  sun  on  the  margin. 
Then  from  his  leathern  pouch  the  farmer  threw  on  the  table 
Three  times  the  old  man's  fee  in  solid  pieces  of  silver ; 
And  the  notary  rising,  and  blessing  the  bride  and  tlie  bridegroom. 
Lifted  aloft  the  tankard  of  ale  and  drark  to  their  welfare. 
Wiping  the  foam  from  his  lip,  he  solemnly  bowed  and  departed. 
While  in  silence  the  others  sat  and  mused  by  the  fireside, 
Till  FiVangeline  brought  the  di'aught-board  out  of  its  corner. 
Soon  was  the  game  begun.     In  friendly  contention  the  old  men 
Laughed  at  each  lucky  hit,  or  unsuccessful  manoeuvre ; 


BJKSsitei' 


u 


KVANGELTNR. 


Laughed  when  a  man  was  crowned,  or  a  breach  was  made  in 

the  king-row. 
Meanwhile,  apai't,  in  the  twilight  gloom  of  a  window's  embrasure, 
Sat  the  lovers,  and  whispered  together,  beholding  the  moon  rise 
Over  the  pallid  sea  and  the  silvery  mist  of  the  meadows. 
Silently,  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of  heaven, 
Blossomed  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots  of  the  angels. 


Thus  passed  the  evening  away.     Anon  the  bell  from  the  belfry 
Rang  out  the  horn'  of  nine,  the  village  curfew,  and  straightway 
Rose  the  guests  and  departed ;  and  silence  reigned  in  uie  household. 


KVANO  KLINE. 


« 


Many  a  farewell  word  and  sweet  j^ood-niglit  on  the  door-step 
Lingered  long  in  Evangeline's  heart,  and  hlled  it  with  Lrladnes^ 


I 


Careiully  then  were  covered  the  embers  that  glowed  on  the  hearth-stone, 
And  on  the  oaken  stairs  resounded  the  tread  of  the  tarmer. 
Soon  with  a  soundless  step  the  foot  of  Evangeline  followed. 
Up  the  staircase  moved  a  laminous  space  in  the  darkness, 

E 


RtMa?.'^*.-..^'-'--'fe3:^:i«^!*e^*{^^^ 


26 


KVANCELIXi:. 


Lighted  less  by  the  lamp  than  the  shining  face  of  the  maiden. 
Silent  she  passed  through  the  hall,  and  entered  the  door  of  her  chamber. 
Simple  that  chamber  was,  with  its  curtains  of  white  and  its  clothes-press 
Ample  and  high,  on  whose  spacious  shelves  were  carefully  folded 
Linen  and  woollen  stuffs,  by  the  hand  of  Evangeline  woven. 
This  was  the  precious  dower  she  would  bring  to  lier  husband  in 

man'iage. 
Better  than  flocks  and  herds,  being  proofs  of  her  skill  as  a  housewife. 
Soon  she  extinguished  her  lamp,  for  the  mellow  and  radiant  moonlight 
Streamed  through  the  windows,  and  lighted  the  room,  till'  the  heart 

of  the  maiden 
Swelled  and  obeyed  its  power,  like  the  tremulous  tides  of  the  ocean . 
Ah !  she  was  fair,  exceeding  fair  to  behold,  as  she  stood  with 
Naked  snow-white  feet  on  the  gleaming  floor  of  her  chamber ! 
Little  she  dreamed  that  below,  among  the  trees  of  the  orchard, 
Waited  her  lover,  and  watched  for  the  gleam  of  her  lamp  and  her 

shadow. 
Yet  were  her  thoughts  of  him,  and  at  times  a  feeling  of  sadness 
Passed  o'er  her  soul,  as  the  sailing  shade  of  clouds  in  the  moonlight 
Flitted  across  the  floor  and  darkened  the  room  for  a  moment. 
And  as  she  gazed  from  the  window  she  saw  serenely  the  moon  pass 
Forth  from  the  folds  of  a  cloud,  and  one  star  follow  her  footsteps. 
As  out  of  Abraham's  tent  young  Ishmael  wandered  with  Hagar  ! 


I', 


EVANOELTNK. 


IV. 


Pleasantly  rose  next  morn  the  sun  on  the  village  of  Grand  Fa  ': . 
Pleasantly  gleamed  in  the  soft,  sweet  air  the  Basin  of  Minas, 
A^^lerc  the  ships,  with  their  wavering  shadows,  were  riding  at  anchor, 
Life  had  long  been  astir  in  the  village,  and  clamorous  labour 


M  EVANOKLINK.  ^ 

Knocked  with  its  hutulrcd  hiuuls  at  the  ^oldoii  ^'ntcs  of  the  inoriiiiij;. 
Now  from  the  country  around,  from  the  fanuH  and  the  neighbouring 

hamlets, 
Came  in  their  holiday  dresses  the  blithe  Acadian  peasants. 
Many  a  glad  good  morrow  and  jocund  laugh  from  tlie  young  folk 
Made  the  biiglit  aii'  brighter,  as  up  from  the  numerous  nuiidows, 


Where  no  path  could  be  seen  but  the   track  of  wheels  in   the 

greensward, 
Group  after  group  appeared,  and  joined,  or  passed  on  the  higliway. 
Long  ere  noon,  in  the  village  all  sounds  of  labour  were  silenced. 


F.VANfJKf.INi;.  I 

Thronpod  wore  the  Htroots  with  ]m>o|)U>;  and  noisy  p^<Mi])!<  at  tlio 

h()UHO-(l(M)rs 
Sat  in  thf  checiful  sun,  and  rejoiced  imd  gossippcd  tof^otluT. 
Kvciy  houHi'  was  an  inn,  where  all  were  weleonied  and  feaHted; 
3^)r  with  this  siniplr  pcoj)le,  who  lived  like  brothers  top;ethcr, 
All  thinjfs  were  held  in  common,  and  what  ojie  had  was  anothei'x. 
Yet  nnder  Henedict's  roof  hos]>itality  seemed  more  ahnndant  : 
]''or  I'iVanffeline  stood  amonjif  the  quests  of  her  father  ; 
Bright  was  her  face  with  smiles,  and  words  of  welcome  and 

ffladncHs 
Fell  from  her  beautifnl  lips,  ond  blessed  the  cup  as  she  pave  it. 


Under  the  open  sky,  in  the  odorous  oir  of  the  orchard, 
Bending  with  golden  fruit,  was  spread  the  feast  of  betrothal. 
There  in  the  shade  of  the  porch  were  the  priest  and  the  notoi  y 

seated ; 
There  good  Benedict  sat,  and  sturdy  Basil  the  blacksmith. 
Not  far  withdrawn  fi*om  these,  by  the  eider-press  and  the  beehives, 
Michael  the  fiddler  was  placed,  with  the  gayest  of  hearts  and  of 

waistcoats. 
Shadow    and    light  from   the  leaves   alternately  played  on  his 

snow-white 
Hair,  as  it  waved  in  the  wind  ;  and  the  jolly  face  of  the  fiddler 
Glowed  like  a  living  coal  when  the  ashes  are  blown  from  the  embers. 
Gaily  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant  sound  of  his  fiddle, 
Ihus  les  lioKrffcoi's  do  Chartrcs,  and  7,e  Carillon  de  Dwikerqtie, 
And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat  time  to  the  music. 


:u» 


KVANGELINK. 


^y/.VKtl '■■-•■ 


Merrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzying  dances 
Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  patli  to  the  meadows  ; 
Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  children  mingled  among  them. 
Fairest  of  all  the  maidc  was  Evangeline,  Benedict's  daughter  I 
Noblest  of  all  the  youths  was  Gabriel,  son  of  the  blacksmith ! 


So  passed  the  morning  away.     And  lo,  with  a  summons  sonorous 

Sounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the  nu'adows  a  drum  beat. 

Thronged  (ue  long    was    the    church  with  men.      Without,  in   the 
chmx'h-vard. 


EVAXGELI.NE. 


.•)l 


Wttited  the  women.     They  stood  hy  the  «^mves,  and  hung-  on  the 

head-stones 
Garlands  of  autumn  leaves  and  evergreens  fresh  from  the  forest. 


(  *^^ 


^--'^^r-:, 


Then  came  the  guard  from  the  ships,  and,  marching  proudly  among 

them, 
Entered  the  sacred  portal.     With  loud  and  dissonant  clangom' 
Echoed  the  sound  of  theii*  brazen  diums  from  ceiling  and  casement, — 
Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  ponderous  portal 
Closed,  and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited  the  will  of  the  soldiers. 
Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from  the  steps  of  the  altar, 
Holding  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals,  the  royal  commission. 
"  You  are  convened  this  day,''  he  said,  *'  by  His  Majesty's  orders. 


n 


If 

1*. 


i). 


Si 


EVANGELINE. 


m 


\ 


Clement  and  kind  lias  ho  been ;   but  how  you  have  answered  his 
kindness 
/Let  your  own  hearts  reply  !     To  my  natural  make  and  my  temper 
Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  I  know  must  be  grievous. 
Yet  must  I  bow  and  obey,  and  deliver  the  Avill  of  oui"  monarch ; 
Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwellings,  and  cattle  of  all  kinds 
Forfeited  be  to  the  crown ;  and  that  you  yourselves  from  this  province 
Be  transported  to  other  lands.     God  grant  you  may  dwell  there 
.Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable  people  ! 
Prisoners  now  I  declai'c  you ;  for  such  is  His  Majesty's  plcasiu'e ! " 
As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice  of  summer, 
Suddenly  gathers  a  storm,  and  the  deadly  sling  of  the  hailstones 
Beats  down  the  farmer's  corn  in  the  field  and  shatters  his  windows, 
Hiding  the  sun,  and  strewing  the  gromid  with  thatch  from   the 

house-roofs, 
Bellowing  fly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their  enclosm*es ; 
So  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  descended  the  words  of  the  sj)eaker. 
Silent  a  moment  they  stood  in  speechless  wonder,  and  then  rose 
Louder  and  ever  louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and  anger, 
And,  by  one  impulse  moved,  they  madly  rushed  to  the  door-way. 
Vain  was  the  hope  of  escape  ;  and  cries  and  fierce  imprecations 
Rang  through  the  house  of  prayer ;  and  high  o'er  the  heads  of  the  others 
Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  Basil  the  blacksmith, 
As  on  a  stormy  sea  a  spar  is  tossed  by  the  billows. 
Flushed  was  his  face  and  distorted  with  passion  ;  and  wildly  he  shouted, 
•*  Down  with  the  tyrants  of  England !  we  never  have  sworn  them 
allegiance ! 


.^' 


V 


EVANGELINE. 


33 


Death  to  these  foreign  soldiers,  who  seize  on  our  homes  and  our 

harvests!" 
More  he  fain  woidd  have  said,  but  the  merciless  hand  of  a  soldier 
Smote  liiui  upon  the  mouth,  and  dragged  him  down  to  the  pavement. 

In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  angry  contention, 
Lo !  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and  Father  Felician 
Entered,  with  serious  mien,  and  asc  ndcd  the  steps  of  the  altar. 
Raising  his  reverend  hand,  witli  a  gesture  he  awed  into  silence 
All  that  clamorous  throng ;  and  thus  he  spake  to  his  people ; 
Deep  were  his  tones  and  solemn ;  in  accents  measured  and  mournful 
Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly  the  clock  strikes. 
"What  is  this  that  ye  do,  my  children?   what  madness   has 

seized  you  ? 
Forty  years  of  my  life  have  I  laboured  among  you,  and  taught  you. 
Not  in  word  alone,  but  in  deed,  to  love  one  another ! 
Is  this  the  fruit  of  my  toils,  of  my  vigils  and  prayers  and  privations  ? 
Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons  of  love  and  forgiveness  ? 
This  is  the  house  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and  would  you  profane  it 
Thus  with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing  with  hatred  ? 
Lo !  where  the  crucified  Christ  from  his  oross  is  gazing  upon  you ! 
See !  in  those  sorrowfal  eyes  what  meekness  and  holy  compassion ! 
Hark!  how  those  lips  still  repeat  the  prayer — *0  Father,  forgive 

them!' 
Let  us  repeat  that  prayer  in  the  hour  when  the  wicked  assail  us. 
Let  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  *  0  Father,  forgive  them !' " 
Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the  hearts  of  his  people 

F 


saasaigBiBaBsr^anx;, 


34 


EVANGELINE, 


Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition  succeeded  that  passionate  outbreak  ; 
And  they  repeated  his  prayer,  and  said,  "  O  Father,  forgive  them  ! " 

Then  came   the  evening  service.     The  tapers   gleamed  from 
the  alttu*. 
Fervent   and  deep  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  the  people 

responded, 
Not  with  their  lips  alone,  but  their  hearts ;  and  the  Ave  Maria 
Sang  they,  and  fell  on  their  knees,  and  their  souls,  with  devction 

translated, 
Rose  on  the  ardour  of  prayer,  like  Elijah  ascending  to  heaven. 


Meanwhile  had  spread  in  the  village  the  tidings  of  ill,  and  on 
all  sides 
Wandered,  wailing,  from  house  to  house,  the  women  and  childi'en. 
Long  at  her  father's  door  Evangeline  stood,  with  her  right  hand 
Shielding  her  eyes  from  the  level  rays  of  the  sun,  that,  descending, 
Lighted  the  village  street  with  mysterious  splendour,  and  roofed  each 
Peasant's  cottage  with  golden  thatch,  and  emblazoned  its  windows. 
Lo !  within  had  been  spread  the  snow-white  cloth  on  the  table  ; 
There  stood  the  wheaten  loaf,  and  the  honey,  fragrant  with  wild 

flowers; 
There  stood  the  tankard  of  ale,  and  the  cheese  fresh  brought  from 

the  dairy ; 
And  at  the  head  of  the  board  the  great  ai*m-chaii'  of  the  farmer. 
Thus  did  Evangeline  wait  at  her  father's  door,  as  the  sunset 
Threw  the  long  shadows  of  trees  o'er  the  broad  ambrosial  meadows. 


KVANGELIXE. 


35 


iVh !  on  her  spirit  within  a  deeper  shadow  had  fallen, 

And  from  the  fields  of  her  soul  a  fragrance  celestial  ascended, — 

Charity,  meekness,  love,  and  hope,  and  forgiveness,  and  patience  I 


Then,  all  forgetful  of  self,  she  wandered  into  the  village. 

Cheering  with  looks  and  words  the  disconsolate  hearts  of  the  womiii, 

As  o'er  the  darkening  fields  with  Ungcring  steps  they  departed, 


BJBMniMiillB 


IK 


m 


M  EVANGELINE. 

Urged  by  their  household  cares,  and  the  weary  feet  of  their  children. 
Down  sank  the  gi'eat  red  sun,  and  in  golden^  glimmering  vapours 
Veiled  the  light  of  his  face,  like  the  Prophet  descending  from  Sinai. 
Sweetly  over  the  village  the  bell  of  the  Angelus  sounded. 

Meanwhile,  amid  the  gloom,  by  the  church  Evangeline  lingered. 
All  was  silent  within ;  and  in  vain  at  the  door  and  the  windows 
Stood  she,  and  listened  and  looked,  until,  overcome  by  emotion, 
"  Gabriel ! "  cried  she,  aloud,  with  tremulous  vc'ce  ;  but  no  answer 
Came  from  the  graves  of  the  dead,  nor  the  gloomier  grave  of  the  living. 
Slowly  at  length  she  returned  to  the  tenantless  house  of  her  father. 
Smouldered  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  on  the  boai'd  stood  the  supper 

untasted, 
Empty  and  drear  was  each  i-oom,  and  haunted  with  phantoms  of  terror 
Sadly  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and  the  floor  of  her  chamber. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the  whispering  rain  fall 
Loud  on  the  withered  leaves  of  the  sycamore  tree  by  the  window. 
Keenly  the  lightning  flashed ;  and  the  voice  of  the  neighbouring  thunder 
Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and  governed  the  world  he  created ! 
Then  she  remembered  the  tale  she  had  heard  of  the  justice  of  heaven ; 
Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  and  she  peacefrilly  slumbered  tillmoming. 


>  f  -.  T    •  ■r.>*ye  • 


E  VANG  KLINE. 


V. 


Four  times  the  sun  had  risen  and  set ;  and  now  on  the  fifth  day 
Cheerily  called  the  cock  to  the  sleeping  maids  of  the  farm-house. 
Soon  o'er  the  yellow  fields,  in  silent  and  mournful  procession, 
Came  from  the  neighbom'ing  hamlets  and  farms  the  Acadian  women, 
Driving  in  ponderous  wains  theii'  household  goods  to  the  sea-shore, 


81  EVANGELINE. 

I'uusing  and  looking  back  to  gaze  once  more  on  thcii-  dwellings, 

Ere  they  were  shut  from  sight  by  the  winding  road  and  the  wootUand. 

Close  at  their  sides  their  cliildi'cn  ran,  and  urged  on  the  oxen. 

While  in  their  little  hands  they  clasped  some  fragments  of  playtliings. 


l»/rt 


m 


K 


( 


Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  they  hurried ;  and  there  on  the 
sea-beach 
I'iled  in  confiision  lay  the  household  goods  of  the  peasants. 
All  day  long  between  the  shore  and  the  ships  did  the  boats  ply ; 
All  day  long  the  wains  came  labouring  down  from  the  village. 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  near  to  his  setting. 
Echoing  far  o'er  the  fields  came  the  roll  of  drums  from  the  chm'chyard. 
Thither  the  women  and  children  thronged.  On  a  sudden  the  chm'ch-doors 
Opened,  and  forth  came  the  guard,  and  marching  in  gloomy  procession 
Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  patient,  Acadian  farmers. 
Even  as  pilgrims,  who  journey  afai  from  their  homes  and  theii*  country. 
Sing  as  they  go,  and  in  singing  forget  they  are  weary  and  way-worn, 
So  with  songs  on  their  lips  the  Acadian  peasants  descended 
Down  from  the  church  to  the  shore,  amid  theii*  wives  and  their  daughters. 
Foremost  the  young  men  came  ;  and,  raising  together  their  voices. 
Sang  they  with  tremulous  lips  a  chant  of  the  Catholic  Missions  : — 
"  Sacred  heart  of  the  Savioiir !    O  inexhaustible  fountain ! 
Fill  our  hearts  tliis  day  with  strength  and  submission  and  patience ! " 
Then  the  old  men,  as  they  marched,  and  the  women  that  stood  by  the 

way-side. 
Joined  in  the  sacred  psalm,  and  the  bii'ds  in  the  simshine  above  theni 
Mingled  their  notes  therewith,  like  voices  of  spuits  depaited. 


KVANGKLINK. 


.•VJ 


Halt-way  down  to  the  shoi'e  Evanf^clino  waited  in  silence, 
Not  overcome  with  gi'ief,  but  strong  in  the  hour  of  affliction, — ■ 
Calmly  and  sadly  waited,  until  th^^  -'"ocession  approached  her, 
And  she  beheld  the  face  of  Gabriel  pale  with  emotion. 
Tears  then  filled  her  eyes,  and,  eagerly  running  to  meet  him. 
Clasped  she  his  hands,  and  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  whispered, 
"  Gabriel !  be  of  good  cheer !  for  if  we  love  one  another, 
Notiung,  in  truth,  can  hann  us,  whatever  mischances  may  happen  ! " 
Smiling  slie  spake  these  words ;  then  suddenly  paused,  for  her  father 
Saw  she  slowly  advancing.     Alas !  how  changed  was  his  aspect ! 
Gone  was  the  glow  from  his  cheek,  and  the  fii'c  from  liis  eye,  and  liis 

footstep 
Heavier  seemed  with  the  weight  of  the  weary  heart  in  liis  bosom. 
But,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  she  clasped  liis  neck  and  embraced  him. 
Speaking  words  of  endearment  where  words  of  comfort  availed  not. 
Thus  to  the  Gaspercau's  mouth  moved  on  that  mournful  procession. 


There  disorder  prevailed,  and  the  tumult  and  stir  of  embarking. 
Busily  plied  the  freighted  boats ;  and  in  the  confusion 
Wives  were  torn  fi'om  their  husbands,  and  mothers,  too  late,  saw  their 

childi'en 
Left  on  the  land,  extending  their  arms,  with  wildest  entreaties. 
So  unto  separate  ships  were  Basil  and  Gabriel  carried, 
AVhile  in  despair  on  the  shore  Evangeline  stood  with  her  father. 
Half  the  task  was  not  done  when  the  sun  went  down,  and  the 

twilight 
Deepened  and  darkened  around ;  and  in  haste  the  refluent  ocean 


w^ 


40 


KVANOr.I.INE. 


^1 


1 


Fled  away  from  tlie  shoi'o,  and  lift  the  Vuw  of  the  sand-hooch 
Covovod  witli  waifs  of  tho  tidi>,  with  kolp  and  the  Hli])])ory  soa-wood. 
Farther  hack,  in  Iho  midst  of  tho  honsoliold  j^'oods  and  tlie  waggons, 
Like  to  a  f^ipsy  camp,  or  a  lea{>;uor  after  a  hattle, 
All  escajjo  out  off  hy  the  sea,  and  the  sentinels  near  them, 
Lay  encamped  for  the  night  the  houseless  Acadian  farmers. 
IJack  to  its  nethermost  caves  retreated  the  bellowing  ocean. 
Dragging  adown  the  beach  the  rattling  pebbles,  and  leaving 
Inland  and  far  iij)  the  shore  the  stranded  boats  of  the  sailors. 


Then,  as  the  night  descended,  the  herds  returned  from  theii*  pastures ; 
Sweet  was  the  moist  still  aii*  with  the  odom*  of  milk  from  their  udders; 
Lowing  they  waited,  and    long,  at  the  well-known    bars  of  the 

farmyard, — 
Waited  and  looked  in  vain  for  the  voice  and  the  hand  of  the 

milkmaid. 


r.VANOKLTNK. 


II 


Silonco  rc'ijfnrd  in  the  stroots;  from  tlio  clmrch  no  An^'chis  sonndod. 
Rose  no  Hmoko  from  tho  roofs,  nnd  p;lonmrd  no  li^lits  from  tlio 
windows. 


But  on  tlic  shores  meanwhile  tlie  cveninj;  fires  had  been  kindled, 
Ruilt  of  the  drift-wood  thrown  on  the  sands  from  wrecks  in  the 

tempest. 
Round  them  shapes  of  ^loom  ai.d  sorrowful  faces  were  gathered, 
Voices  of  women  were  heard,  and  of  men,  and  the  cryinj?  of  children. 
Onward  from  fire  to  fire,  as  from  hearth  to  hearth  in  his  parish, 
Wandered  the  faithful  priest,  consolinf^  and  hlessinp;  and  checrinfj, 
Fiike  unto  shipwrecked  Paul  on  Melita's  desolate  sea-shore. 
Thus  he  approached  the  place  where  Evangeline  sat  with  her  fathej'. 
And  in  the  flickering  light  beheld  the  face  of  the  old  man. 
Haggard  and  hollow  and  wan,  and   without  either  thought  or 

emotion, 
E'en  as  the  face  of  a  clock  from  which  the  hands  have  been  taken. 
V^ainly  Evangeline  strove  with  words  and  caresses  to  cheer  him, 
Vainly  oifei*ed  him  food;   yet  he  moved  not,  he  looked  not,  he 

spake  not, 
Rut,  with  a  vacant  stare,  ever  gazed  at  the  flickering  fire  light. 
^'  Benedicife  !'"  murmured  the  priest,  in  tones  of  compassion. 
More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  his  heart  was  full,  and  his  accents 
Faultercd  and  paused  on  his  lips,  as  the  feet  of  a  child  on   a 

tlircshold, 
Hushed  by  the  scene  he  beholds,  and  the  awful  presence  of  sorrow. 
Silently,  therefore,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of  the  maiden, 

G 


Ml 


I 


III  II 


40 


KVANT.KLTNF. 


liaising  liis  eyes,  full  of  teal's,  to  the  Hilnit  .stars  that  above  them 
Moved  on  their  way,  uupertinhed  by  tlie   wrongs  and  sorrows  of 

mortals. 
Then  sat  he  down  at  her  side,  and  they  wept  together  in  silenee. 


.#-_.        J&i 

■     '/  ■'  ■"'''^"""i.-.  ■■■- 

Suddenly  rose  from  the  south  a  light,  as  in  autumn  the  blood-red 
Moon  climbs  the  crystal  walls  of  heaven,  and  o'er  the  horizon 
Titan-like  stretches  its  hundred  hands  upon  mountain  and  meadow. 
Seizing  the  rocks  and  the  rivers,  and  piling  huge  shadows  together. 
Broader  and  ever  broader  it  gleamed  on  the  roofs  of  the  village, 


KVANOKMNi;. 


4» 


(ilcaiiu'd  on  the  sky  uiul  tlio  mcu,  and  tlic  sliips  that  lay  iti  tla>  nmd- 

nU'ud. 
(oluinns  of  shilling  sniokf  upnwf,  and  Haslas  (;f  Hanu-  wcro 
'riirnst  thvonf^li  tlitir  folds  and  withdrawn,  like  the  (luiveiing  hands 

of  a  nuu'tvr. 
'I'hen  as  the  wind  seized  the  gleeds  and  the  burning  thateh,  anil, 

uplifting, 
>\'hirled  them  ah)ft  thnmgh  the  air,    at  onee   from   a   hundred 

house-tops 
Started  the  sheeted  smoke  with  flashes  of  flame  intermingled. 

These  things  beheld  in  dismay  the  crowd  on  the  shore  and  on 
shipboard. 
Spee(!hless  at  hrst  they  stood,  then  cried  aloud  in  their  anguish, 
'•  We  shall  be]u)ld  no  more  our  homes  in  the  village  of  Grand  Pre  !" 
Loud  on  a  sudden  the  cocks  began  to  crow  in  the  farm-yards, 
Thinking  the  day  had  dawned  ;  and  anon  the  lot\'ing  of  cattle 
(Anne  on  the  evening  breeze,  ])y  the  barking  of  dogs  interrupted. 
Then  rose  a  sound  of  dread,  such  as  startles  the  sleeping  encampments 
Fur  in  the  western  prauies  or  forests  that  skirt  the  Nebraska, 
When  the  wild  horses  afl'righted  sweep  by  with  the  sped  of  the 

w'hirlwind, 
Or  the  loud  belloAving  herds  of  buffaloes  rush  to  the  river. 
Huch  was  the  sound  that  arose  on   the  night,  as  the   herds  and 

the  horses 
Broke  thnnigh  their  folds  and  fences,  and  madly  rushed  o'er  the 

meadows. 


mK 


mmm 


44 


EVANGELINK. 


Overwiielint'cl  with  the  sight,  yet  speechless,  the  priest  and  the 
maiden 
Gazed  on  the  scene  of  tenor  that  reddened  and  widened  before  them  ; 
And  as  they  turned  at  lenjj^th  to  speak  to  their  silent  companion, 
Lo!    from  his  seat  he  had  fallen,  and  stretched  abroad  on  the 

sea-shore 
]Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  the  soul  had  departed. 
Slowly  the  priest  uphfted  the  lifeless  head,  and  the  maiden 
Knelt  at  her  father's  side,  and  wailed  aloud  in  her  terror. 
Then  in  a  swoon  she  sank,  and  lay  with  her  head  on  his  bosom. 
Tlu'ough  the  long  night  she  lay  in  deep,  oblivious  slumber ; 
And  when  she  awoke  from  the  trance,  she  beheld   a  multitude 

near  her. 
Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were  mournfully  gazing  upon  her. 
Pallid,  with  tearful  eyes,  and  looks  of  saddest  compassion. 
Still  the  blaze  of  the  burning  village  illumined  the  landscape, 
Reddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed  on  the  faces  around  her, 
And  like  the  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to  her  wavering  senses. 
Then  a  familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it  said  to  the  people, — 
C  "  Let  us  bury  him  here  by  the  sea.     When  a  happier  season 
J   Brings  us  again  to  our  homes  from  the  luiknown  land  of  our  exile, 
V  Then  shall  his  sacred  dust  be  piously  laid  in  the  churchyard. " 
Such  were  the  words  of  the  priest.     And  there  in  haste  by  the 

seaside,  * 

Having  the  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  funeral  torches, 
But  -without  l)ell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer  of  Grand  Pre. 
And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  re])eated  the  service  of  sorrow, 


KVANGELINK. 


45 


Lo !  with  a  mournful  sound,  like  tlic  voice  of  a  vast  congregation, 
Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mingled  its  roar  with  the  du-ges. 
T'was  the  returning  tide,  that  afar  from  the  waste  of  the  ocean. 
With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  came  heaving  and  hurrying  landward. 
Then  recommenced  once  more  the  stir  and  noise  of  embarking ; 
And  with  the  ebb  of  that  tide  the  shii)s  sailed  out  of  the  harbour, 
Leaving  behind  them  the  dead  on  the  shore,  and  the  village  in  ruins. 


immmmmm 


PART    THE    SECOND. 


I. 


Many  a  weary  year  had  passed  since  the  burnings  of  Grand  Pre, 
When  on  the  falling  tide  the  freighted  vessels  departed, 
Bearing  a  nation,  vnth  all  its  household  gods,  into  exile, 
Exile  without  an  end,  and  without  an  cxami)le  in  story. 


HMMMi 


Mmf 


48 


kvangp:link. 


I  I 


11 


■ 

If  ' 
pi 


t^'-f 


Far  asuudci",  on  separate  coasts,  the  Acadians  landed ; 

Scattered  were  they,  like  flakes  of  snow,  when  the  wind  from  the 

north-east 
Strikes  aslant  through  the  fogs  that  darken  the  hanks  of  New- 
foundland. 
Friendless,  homeless,  hopeless,  they  wandered  from  city  to  city,     r 
From  the  cold  lakes  of  the  North  to  sultry  Southern  savannas, — 
From  the  bleak  shores  of  the  sea  to  the  land  where  the  Father  of 

Waters 
Seizes  the  hills  in  his  hands,  and  drags  them  down  to  the  ocean, 
Deep  in  their  sands  to  bury  the  scattered  bones  of  the  mammoth. 
Friends  they  sought  and  homes ;  and  many,  despairing,  heart-broken, 
Asked  of  the  earth  but  a  grave,  and  no  longer  a  friend  nor  a  fireside. 
Written  theii'  history  stands  on  tablets  of  stone  in  the  churchyards. 
Long  among  them  was  seen  a  maiden  who  waited  and  wandered, 
Lowly  and  meek  in  spirit,  and  patiently  suffering  all  things. 
Fair  was  she  and  young ;  but,  alas !  before  her  extended. 
Dreary  and  vast  and  silent,  the  desert  of  life,  with  its  pathway 
Marked  by  the  graves  of  those  who  had  sorrowed  and  suffered  before  her, 
Passions  long  extinguished,  and  liopes  long  dead  and  abandoned, 
As  the  emigrant's  way  o'er  the  western  desert  is  marked  bv 
Camp-fires  long  consumed,  and  bones  that  bleach  in  the  sunshine. 
Something  there  was  in  her  life  incomplete,  imperfect,  unfinished ; 
As  if  a  morning  of  Juno,  with  all  its  music  and  sunshine. 
Suddenly  paused  in  the  sky,  and,  fading,  slowly  descended 
Into  the  east  again,  from  whence  it  late  had  arisen. 
Sometimes  she  lingered  in  towns,  till,  urged  by  the  fever  within  her, 


i:VANOELINK. 


I'J 


Urged  by  a  restless  loiigiug,  the  hunger  uutl  thirst  of  the  spirit, 
She  would  commence  again  her  endless  search  and  endeavoui" ; 
Sometimes  in  church-yards  strayed,  and  gazed  on  the  crosses  and  tomb- 
stones, 
Sat  by  some  nameless  grave,  and  thought  that  perhaps  in  its  bosom 
He  was  already  at  rest,  and  she  longed  to  slumber  beside  him. 
Sjmetimes  a  rumour,  a  hearsay,  an  inarticulate  wliisper, 
Came  with  its  airy  hand  to  point  and  beckon  her  forward. 
Sometimes  she  spake  with  those  who  had  seen  her  .beloved  and  known 

him. 
But  it  was  long  ago,  in  some  far-off  place  or  forgotten. 
'*  Gabriel  Lajeunesse ! "  said  they ;  "  O,  yes !  we  have  seen  him. 
He  was  with  Basil  the  blacksmith,  and  both  have  gone  to  the  prairies ; 
Coureiifs-dcs-Bois  are  they,  and  famous  hunters  and  trappers." 
"  Gabriel  Lajeunesse ! "  said  others ;  "  O,  yes !  we  have  seen  him. 
He  is  a  Voyayeur  in  the  lowlands  of  Louisiana." 
Then  would  they  say,—"  Dear  child !  why  dream  and  wait  for  him 

longer  ? 
Are  their  not  other  youths  as  fair  as  Gabriel  ?  others 
\Vlio  have  hearts  as  tender  and  true,  and  spirits  as  loyal  ? 
Here  is  Baptiste  Leblanc,  the  notary's  son,  who  has  loved  thee 
Many  a  tedious  year ;  come,  give  him  thy  hand  and  be  hai)py  ! 
Thou  art  too  fair  to  be  left  to  braid  Saint  Catherine's  tresses. " 
Then  would  Evangeline  answer,  serenely  but  sadly, — "  I  cannot ! 
Wliither  my  heart  has  gone,  there  follows  my  hand,  and  not  elsewhere. 
For  when  the  heart  goes  before,  like  a  lamj),  and  illumines  the  pathway 
Many  things  are  made  clear,  that  else  lie  hidden  in  darkness." 

n 


-* 


IB— nwniiiwyiri  i .. ,  jkm!'j  '  "j^^^^mm^^ 


lii&e-aiitK'J'- 


60 


1 ;  VAN  GK  LINK. 


And  thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and  father-confessor, 

Said,  with  a  sm?le, — "  Oli,  daughter !  thy  God  thus  speaketh  within 

thee! 
Talk  not  of  wasted  affection,  affection  never  was  wasted ; 
If  it  enrich  not  the  heart  of  another,  its  waters,  returning 
IJack  to  theii'  springs,  like  the  rain,  shall  fill  them  full  of  refreshment; 
That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns  again  to  the  fountain. 
Patience ;  accomplish  thy  labour ;  accomplish  thy  work  of  affection ! 
Sorrow  and  silence  are  strong,  and  patient  endurance  is  godlike. 
Therefore  accomplish  thy  labour  of  love,  till  the  heart  is  made  godlike, 
l\irified,  strengthened,  perfected,  and  rendered  more  worthy  of  heaven !" 
Cheered  by  the  good  man's  words,  Evangeline  laboured  and  waited. 
Still  in  her  heart  she  heard  the  funeral  dirge  of  the  ocean. 
But  with  its  sound  there  was  mingled  a  voice  tliat  whispered, 

\'  Despair  not ! " 
Thus  did  that  poor  soul  wander  in  want  and  cheerless  discomfort, 
Ulcediiig,  barefooted,  over  the  shards  and  thorns  of  existence. 
Let  me  essay,  O  Muse  !  to  follow  the  wanderer's  footsteps ; — 
Not  through  each  devious  jiath,  each  changeful  year  of  existence ; 
iJut  as  a  traveller  follows  a  streamlet's  course  through  the  valley  : 
I'ar  from  its  margin  at  times,  and  seeing  the  gleam  of  its  water 
Here  and  there,  in  some  open  space,  and  at  intervals  only ; 
Then  drawing  nearer  its  banks,  through  sylvan  glooms  that  conceal  it. 
Though  he  behold  it  not,  he  can  hear  its  continuous  mm  mur ; 
]  lappy,  at  length,  if  he  find  the  spot  where  it  reaches  an  outlet. 


EVAXGELINK. 


61 


II. 


It  was  the  montli  of  !Ma^'.     Far  clown  the  Beautiful  Kivet-, 

f 

\  Pant  the  Ohio  sliorc,  and  past  the  mouth  of  tlie  Wabash, 
Into  the  golden  stream  of  the  broad  and  swift  Mississipi, 
Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed  by  Acadian  boatmen. 


^ 


j  It  was  a  band  of  exiles,  a  raft,  as  it  were,  from  the  shipwrecked 
I  Nation,  scattered  alonf>;  the  coast,  now  floating  together, 
Bomid  by  the  bonds  of  a  common  belief  and  a  common  misfortune  ; 
Men  and  women  and  children,  who,  guided  by  hope  or  by  hearsay, 
Sought  for  their  kith  and  their  kin  among  the  few-acred  farmers 
On  the  Acadian  coast,  and  the  prairies  of  fair  Opclousas. 
With  them  Evangeline  went,  and  her  guide,  the  Father  Felician. 
Onward,  o'er  sunken  sands,  tlirough  a  wilderness  sombre  with  forests, 


K!SS3SSS2S&*i 


tfl 


-rj 


^.j, '  PWt'J-i 


EVANCJFJJVE. 

Day  after  day  they  glided  ndowii  the 

tinbuh'iit  river ; 
Ni},'ht  after  nif^ht,  by  their  blazing- 
fires,  eneamped  on  its  borders. 
Now  through  rushing  elmtes,  among 

green  islands,  where  plumelike 
Cotton-trees  nodded  their  shadowy 

crests,  they  swept  with  the  current , 
Then  emerj^ed  into  broad   lagoons, 

where  silvery  sand-bars 
r^ay  in  the  stream,  and  along  the 

wimpling  waves  of  their  margin, 
f|i  Sliining   with    snow-white    plumes, 

larg-e  flocks  of  pelicans  A\aded. 
Level  the  landscape  grew,  and  along 

the  shores  of  the  river. 
Shaded  bv  china-trees,  in  the  midst 

of  luxuriant  gardens. 
Stood  the  houses  of  planters,  with 

negro  cabins  and  dove-cots. 
They  were  a])]n'oaching  the  region 

where  r(>igns  perpetual  sunnncr, 
Where  through  the  golden  coast,  and 

groves  of  orange  and  citron. 
Sweeps  with  majestic  curve  the  liver 

away  to  the  eastward. 
They,  too,  swerved  from  their  course ; 
and,  entering  the  liayou  of  Plaquemiue, 


EVAXGELIXE. 


.'» 


Soon  wore  lost  in  a  mnzo  of  sluj^f^ish 

and  devious  waters, 
Whicli,  like  a  network  of  steel,  ex- 
tended in  every  direction. 
Over  their  heads  the  towcrinj?  and 

tenebrous  boughs  of  the  cypress 
Met  in  a  dusky  arch,  and  trailin}j^ 

mosses  in  mid  aii* 
Waved  like  banners  that  hang  on 

the  walls  of  ancient  cathedrals. 
Deathlike   the  silence  seemed,   and 

unbroken,  save  by  tlio  herons 
Home  to  thcii*  roosts  in  the  cedar- 
trees  returning  at  sunset, 
Or  by  the  owl  as  he  greeted  the  moon 

with  demoniac  laughter. 
Lovely    the    moonlight  was    as    it 

glanced  and  gleamed  on  the  water, 
(jileamcd  on  the  columns  of  cypress 

and  cedar  sustaining  the  arches, 
J)own  through  whose  broken  vaults 

it  fell  as  tln-ough  chhdcs  in  a  ruin. 
Dreamlike,  andindistinct,  and  strange  ^'' 

were  all  things  around  them  ; 
And  o'er  their  spirits  their  came  a 

feeling  of  wonder  and  sadness, — 
Strange  forebodings  of  ill,  unseen  and 

that  cannot  be  compassed. 


IBllflgJllllllUiBiWiLPaai|iiiJSPi>..jj^^»«^^  ' 


ni 


KVANfiEI.INF. 


As,  at  the  trnmi)  of  a  horse's  hoot'  on  the  turf  of  the  jn-airies, 
Far  in  a '  .Jice  are  closed  the  k'aves  of  the  shrinking;  niiniosii, 
So,  at  the  hoof-heats  of  fate,  witli  sad  forehodin{»;s  of  evil, 
Shrinks  and  closes  the  heart,  ere  th(^  stroke  of  doom  has  attained  it. 
lint  l"iVanj!;cline's  heart  was  sustained  hy  a  vision,  that  faintly 
Floated  before  her  eyes,  aiid  beckoned  her  on  throuf^h  the  moonlif^ht. 
It  was  the  thouji^ht  of  her  brain  that  assumed  the  shai)e  of  a  i)hantom. 
'riinmq'h  those  shadowy  aisles  had  Gabriel  wandered  before  her, 
And  every  strolcc  of  the  oar  now  brought  liiui  nearer  and  nearer. 


It  'l 


II 


Then  in  his  place,  at  the  prow  of  the  boat,  rose  one  of  the  oarsmen, 
And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  peradventuro 
Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight  streams,  blew   a  blast   on 

his  bugle. 
Wild  through  the  dark  colonnadi^s  and  corridors  leaty  the  blast  rang. 
Breaking  the  seal  of  silence,  and  giving  tongues  to  the  forest. 
Soundless  above  them  the  banners  of  moss  just  stirred  to  the  music. 
Multitudinous  echoes  awoke  and  died  in  the  distance, 
Over  the  watery  floor,  and  beneath  the  reverberant  branches ; 
But  not  a  voice  replied ;  no  answer  came  from  the  darkness ; 
And  when  the  echoes  had  ceased,  like  a  sense  of  pain  was  the  silence. 
Then    Evangeline   slept ;   but    the    boatmen  rowed   through   the 

midnight ; 
Silent  at  times,  and  then  singing  familiar  Canadian  boat-songs, 
\     Such  as  they  sang  of  old  on  their  own  Acadian  rivers. 

And  through  the  night  were  heard  the  mysterious  sounds  of  the  desert, 

Far  off,  indistinct,  as  of  wave  or  ^^  ind  in  the  forest, 

Mixed  with  the  whoop  of  the  crane  and  the  roar  of  the  grim  alligator. 


KVANUKLINK.  :,.", 

TliUN  ciT  jnuithcr  iioou  tluy  cmoi'i^cd  tVom  tliDsc  hIuuIcs  ;  and 
bi'forc  (lii'iii 
FiUy,  in  the  f^oliUii  sim,  tlu'  liikcs  of  (\w  Atcluif'alayu. 
Watcr-lilk's  in  myriads  rocked  o'l  the  slight  uiidulutious 


,^^^ 


Made  by  the  passing  oars,  and,  resplendent  in  beauty,  the  lotus 
l-ifted  her  <jolden  crown  above  the  heads  of  the  boatmen. 
Faint  was  the  air  with  the  odorous  breath  of  magnolia 

blossoms, 
And  witli  the  heat  of  noon  ;  and  numberless  sylvan  islands, 


wiiiw— w— iiilMi  nvmms^msiism 


•StenSStSfS^s's'',-- 


M 


KVANUKLINK. 


i 


I 


?;  i 


0  L;^r  • /#^^^iSv^  c:  c:i.^ 


ry/i. 


,   -..-!>■' 


./  ■>'<* 


Fnignirit  and  tliii'klyiinliowt'rt'd  with 

blossoiiiin^^  ht'(l^;'C'M  ol"  iohos, 
j>    Near   to  whoHc  whores  thoy  glided 

uloiij;,  invited  to  shinihcr. 
Soon   by  tlic  fainst  of  tlusc  thdr 

\Maiy  oars  were  suspended. 
Under  the  boujj^hs  of  Waeliita  willows 

that  grew  by  the  niarj^in, 
Safely  their  boat  was  moored;  and 

scattered  about  on  the  greensward, 
Tired  with  their  midnight  toil,  the 

wearv  travellers  slund)i'red. 
Over  them  vast  and  liiyh  c  xtended 

the  eope  of  a  cedar. 
Swinging  from  its  great  arms,  the 

trumpet  flower  and  the  grape-vine 
Hung  their  ladder  of  ropi  s  aloft,  like 

the  ladder  of  Jacob, 
On  whose  pendulous  staiis  the  angels 

ascending,  descending, 
g|^^^  Were  the  swift  hunnning  birds,  that 

flitted  from  blossom  to  blossom. 
Such  was  the  vision  Evangeline  saw 

as  she  slumbered  beneath  it. 
Filled  was  her  heart  with  love,  and 

the  dawn  of  an  opening  heaven 
Lighted  her  soul  in  sleep  with  the 

glory  of  regions  celestial. 


KVANOLMNK. 


w 


Noarcr  and  ever  m'urt>r,  unum^^ 
the  numbeik'HM  iMlunds, 

Dartt'd  a  lif;lil,  Hwit't  boat,  that  wpcd 
away  o'er  the  water, 

Ury;ed  on  its  course  by  tlie  Hiuewy 
arms  of  liunters  and  trappers. 

Northward  its  prow  was  turned,  to 
the  land  of  the  bison  and  beaver. 

At  the  helm  sat  a  youth,  with  coun- 
tenance thoughtful  and  careworn. 

Dark  and  neglected  locks  oversha- 
dowed lus  brow,  and  a  sadness 

Somewhat  beyond  liis  yetlrs  on  his 
face  was  legibly  written. 

Gabriel  was  it,  who,  wcaiy  with 
waiting,  unhappy  and  restless, 

Sought  in  the  Western  wilds  oblivion 
of  self  and  of  sorrow. 

Swiftly  they  glided  along,  close  under 
the  leo  of  the  island, 

Tkit  by  the  opposite  bank,  and  be- 
hind a  screen  of  palmettoes. 

So  that  they  saw  not  the  boat,  where 
it  lay  concealed  in  the  willows. 

And  imdistm'bed  by  the  dash  of  theii' 
oars,  and  unseen,  were  the  sleepers; 

Angel  of  God  was  there  none  to 
awaken  the  slumbering  maiden. 


fr--- 


■Mnm 


'.■|[JJJI.i!tl 


$ 


58 


EVANGELINE. 


111! 


m    H 

k 


Swiftly  they  glided  away,  like  the  shade  of  a  cloud  on  the  prairie. 

After  the  sound  of  their  oars  on  the  tholes  had  died  in  the  distance, 

As  from  a  magic  trance  the  sleepers  awoke,  and  the  maiden 

Said  with  a  sigh  to  the  friendly  priest, — "  O  Father  r  eiician  ! 

Something  says  in  my  heart  that  near  me  Gabriel  wanders. 

Is  it  a  foolish  dream,  an  idle  and  vague  superstition  ? 

Or  has  an  angel  passed,  and  revealed  the  truth  to  my  spirit  ?  " 

Then,  with  a  blush,  she  added, —  "  Alas  for  my  credulous  fancy  I 

Unto  ears  like  thine  such  words  as  these  have  no  meaning." 

But  made  answer  the  reverend  man,  and  he  smiled  as  he  answered, — 

"  Daughter,  thy  words  are  not  idle  ;  nor  arc  they  to  me  without 

meaning. 
Feeling  is  deep  and  still ;  and  the  word  that  floats  on  the  surface 
Is  as  the  tossing  buoy,  that  betrays  where  the  anchor  is  hidden. 
Therefore  trust  to  thy  heart,  and  to  what  the  world  calls  illusions. 
Gabriel  truly  is  near  thee ;  for  not  far  away  to  the  southward. 
On  the  banks  of  the  Teche,  are  the  towns  of  St.  Maur  and  St.  Martin. 
There  the  long- wandering  bride  shall  be  given  again  to  her  bridegroom, 
There  the  long-absent  pastor  regain  liis  flock  and  his  shcepfold. 
Beautiful  is  the  land,  with  its  prairies  and  forests  of  fruit-trees ; 
Under  the  feet  a  garden  of  flowers,  and  the  bluest  of  heavens 
Bending  above,  and  resting  its  dome  on  the  walls  of  the  forest. 
They  who  dwell  there  have  named  it  the  Eden  of  Louisiana." 


;lii 


P'l 


And  with  these  words  of  cheer  they  arose  and  continued  theii- 
jom'ney. 
Softly  the  evening  came.    The  sun  from  the  western  horizon 
Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden  wand  o'er  the  landscape ; 


EVANGELINE. 


59 


Twinkling  vapours  arose ;  and  sky  and  water  and  forest 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,  and  melted  and  mingled  together. 
Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  cloud  with  edges  of  silver, 
Floated  the  boat,  with  its  dripping  oars,  on  the  motionless  water. 
Filled  was  Evangeline's  heart  with  inexpressible  sweetness. 
Touched  by  the  magic  spell,  the  sacred  fountains  of  feeling 
Glowed  with  the  light  of  love,  as  the  skies  and  waters  around  her. 
Then  from  a  neighbouring  thicket  the  mocking-bird,  wildest  of  singers, 
Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er  the  water, 
Shook  fi'om  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  delirious  music. 
That  the  whole  aii',  and  the  woods,  and  the  waves,  seemed  silent  to  listen. 
Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad ;  then  soaring  to  madness 
Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel  of  frenzied  Bacchantes. 
Then  single  notes  were  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low  lamentation ; 
Till,  having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung  them  abroad  in  derision. 
As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through  the  tree-tops 
Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower  on  the  branches. 
With  such  a  prelude  as  this,  and  hearts  that  throbbed  with  emotion, 
Slowly  they  entered  the  Teche,  where  it  flows  through  the  green 

Opelousas, 
And  through  the  amber  air,  above  the  crest  of  the  woodland. 
Saw  the  column  of  smoke  that  arose  from  a  neighbom'ing  dwelling  ;— 
Sounds  of  a  horn  they  heard,  and  the  distant  lowing  of  cattle. 


lllUIIIIW|il|llnmWiWI||ll  MllliWIlMiaMBIHBIJjmj^lMEiat 


60 


KVANGELTNE. 


•^-j. 


I    4 


f< 


III. 


r 

p 


i;.  '11- 


Near  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  o'crshadowcd  by  oaks,  from 

whose  branches 
Garlands  of  Spanish  moss  aniL  of  mystic  mistletoe  flaunted, 
Such  as  the  Druids  cut  down  with  golden  hatchets  at  Yule-tide, 
Stood,  secluded  and  still,  the  house  of  the  herdsman.     A  garden 
Girded  it  round  about  with  a  belt  of  luxuriant  blossoms. 
Filling  the  air  with  fragrance.     The  house  itself  was  of  timbers 


EVANGELINE, 


61 


Hewn  from  the  cypress-tree,  and  carefully  fitted  together. 
Large  and  low  was  the  roof ;  and  on  slender  columns  supported, 
Rose-wreathed,  vine-encircled,  a  broad  and  spacious  verandah, 
Haunt  of  the  humming-bird  and  the  bee,  extended  around  it. 
At  each  end  of  the  house,  amid  the  flowers  of  the  garden. 
Stationed  the  dove-cots  were,  as  love's  perpetual  symbol, 
Scenes  of  endless  wooing,  and  endless  contentions  of  rivals. 
Silence  reigned  o'er  the  place.     The  line  of  shadow  and  sunshine 
Ran  near  the  tops  of  the  trees  ;  but  the  house  itself  was  in  shadow, 
And  from  its  chimney-top,  ascending  and  slowly  expanding 
Into  the  evening  air,  a  thin  blue  column  of  smoke  rose. 
In  the  rear  of  the  house,  from  the  garden  gate,  ran  a  pathway 
Through  the  gr^iat  groves  of  oak  to  the  skirts  of  the  limitless 

prairie. 
Into  whose  sea  of  flowers  the  smi  was  slowly  descending. 
Full  in  his  track  of  light,  like  sliips  with  shadowy  canvas 
Hanging  loose  from  their  span;  in  a  motionless  calm  in  the  tropics. 
Stood  a  cluster  of  cotton-trees,  with  cordage  of  gi'ape-vines. 

Just  where  the  woodlands  met  the  flowery  surf  of  the  prairie, 
Mounted  upon  his  horse,  with  Spanish  saddle  and  stu-rups, 
Sat  a  herdsman,  arrayed  in  gaiters  and  doublet  of  deerskin. 
Broad  and  browii  was  the  face  that  from  under  the  Spanish 

sombrero 
Gazed  on  the  peaceful  scene,  with  the  lordly  look  of  its  master. 
Round  about  him  were  numberless  herds  of  kinc,  that  were  grazing 
Quietly  in  the  meadows,  and  breathing  the  vapoury  freshness 


WUKtMnLAV^m^'M-VWMUapB 


EVANGELINE. 


i'      ' 


: 


i| 


That  uprose  from  the  river,  and  spread  itself  over  the  landscape. 
Slowly  lifting  the  horn  that  hung  at  his  side,  and  expanding 
Fully  liis  broad,  deep  chest,  he  blew  a  blast,  that  resounded 
Wildly  and  sweet  and  far,  thi'ough  the  still  damp  air  of  the 
evening. 


l» 


Suddenly  out  of  the  grass  the  long  wliite  horns  of  the  cattle 
Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse  cmTents  of  ocean. 
Silent  a  moment  they  gazed,  then  bellowing  rushed  o'er  the  prairie, 
And  the  whole  mass  became  a  cloud,  a  shade  in  the  distance. 


EVANGELINE. 


63 


Then,  as  the  herdsman  turned  to  the  house,  through  the  gate  of  the 

garden 
Saw  he  the  forms  of  the  priest  and  the  maiden  advancing  to 

meet  him. 
Suddenly  down  H'oni  liis  horse  he  sprang  in  amazement,  and  forward 
Rushed  with  extended  arms  and  exclamations  of  wonder ; 
When  they  heheld  his  face,  they  recognised  Basil  the  blacksmith. 
Hearty  his  welcome  was,  as  he  led  his  guests  to  the  garden. 
There  in  an  arboui*  of  roses  with  endless  question  and  answer 
Gave  they  vent  to  their  hearts,  and  renewed  their  friendly 

embraces. 
Laughing  and  weeping  by  tm-ns,  or  sitting  silent  and  thoughtful. 
Thoughtful,  for  Gabriel  came  not;   and  now  dark  doubts  and 

misgivings 
Stole  o'er  the  maiden's  heart ;  and  Basil,  somewhat  embarrassed, 
Broke  the  silence  and  said, — "  If  you  came  by  the  Atchafalaya, 
How  have  you  nowhere  encomitered  my  Gabriel's  boat  on 

the  bayous?" 
Over  Evangeline's  face  at  the  words  of  Basil  a  shade  passed. 
Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  with  a  tremulous  accent, — 
"  Gone  ?   is  Gabriel  gone  ? "   and,  concealing  her  face  on  his 

shoulder, 
All  her  o'erbm-dened  heart  gave  way,  and  she  wept  and  lamented. 
Then  the  good  Basil  said, — and  his  voice  grew  blithe  as  he  said  it,— 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  cliild ;  it  is  only  to-day  he  departed. 
Foolish  boy !  he  has  left  me  alone  with  my  herds  and  my  horses. 
Moody  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and  troubled,  his  spirit 


gTBa**'n»rtf5uCTi«W»ggNWMWM'i'W»Wi^^ 


m 


i'  t 


1: 

} 

I 

f 

1 

i     . 

4 

i 

i- 

''A 

i  '..  i. 


I 


04 


EVANGELINE. 


Could  no  longer  endui'e  the  calm  of  this  quiet  existence. 
Thinking  ever  of  thee,  uncertain  and  sorrowful  ever, 
Ever  silent,  or  speaking  only  of  thee  and  his  troubles, 
He  at  length  had  become  so  tedious  to  men  and  to  maidens, 
Tedious  even  to  me,  that  at  length  I  bethought  me,  and  sent  him 
Unto  the  town  of  Adayes  to  trade  for  mules  with  the  Spaniards. 
Thence  he  will  follow  the  Indian  trails  to  the  Ozark  Mountains, 
Hunting  for  furs  in  the  forest,  on  rivers  trapping  the  beaver. 
Therefore  be  of  good  cheer ;  we  will  follow  the  fugitive  lover ; 
He  liis  not  far  on  his  way,  and  the  Fates  and  the  streams  are 

against  him. 
Up  and  away  to-mon-ow,  and  tlu'ough  the  red  dew  of  the 


mornmg 


We  will  follow  him  fast,  and  bring  him  back  to  his  prison." 

Then  glad  voices  were  heard,  and  up  from  the  banks  of 
the  river. 
Borne  aloft  on  his  comrades'  arms,  came  Michael  the  fiddler. 
Long  mider  Basil's  roof  had  he  lived  like  a  god  on  Olympus, 
Having  no  other  care  than  dispensing  music  to  mortals 
Far  renowned  was  he  for  liis  silver  locks  and  his  fiddle. 
"  Long  live  Michael, "  they  cried,  "  our  brave  Acadian  minstrel  !*' 
As  they  bore  liim  aloft  in  triumphal  procession  ;  and  straightway 
Father  Felician  advanced  with  Evangeline,  greeting  the  old  man 
Kindly  and  oft,  and  recalling  the  past,  wliile  Basil,  enraptured. 
Hailed  with  hilarious  joy  his  old  companions  and  gossips, 
Laughing  loud  and  long,  and  embracing  ruothers  and  daughters. 


rr 


EVAX(iKLINK. 


Cf) 


^'    I 


Much  they  marvelled  to  see  the  wealth  of  the  ci-devant 

blacksmith, 
All  his  domains  and  his  herds,  and  his  patriarchal  demeanour  ; 
Much  they  marvelled  to  hear  his  talcs  of  the  soil  and  the  climate, 
And  of  the  prairies,  whose  numberless  herds  were  his  who  would 

take  them ; 
Each  one  thought  in  his  heart,  that  he,  too,  would  go  and  do  likewise. 
Thus  they  ascended  the  steps,  and,  crossing  the  airy  verandah, 

J 


imMnMmtMmmmmmmmi.M.JMMmmmsm'1 


¥ 


-fc....ai,.ftU,',    .Mtj, 


J9»^*»»^,"  ■•«- 


00 


KVANOELINE. 


Entered  the  hall  of  the  house,  where  already  the  supper  of  Basil 
Waited  his  late  retiu'ii ;  and  they  rested  and  feasted  together. 


i  I  iil 


.1    ., 


I 


I 


^ 


Over  the  joyous  feast  the  sudden  darkness  descended. 
All  was  silent  without,  and,  illuminj^  the  landscape  with  silver, 
Fair  rose  the  dewy  moon  and  the  myriad  stars ;  but  within  doors. 
Brighter  than  these,  shone  the  faces  of  friends  in  the  glimmering 

lamplight. 
Then  from  his  station  aloft,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  the  herdsman 
Poui'ed  forth  his  heart  and  his  wine  together  in  endless  profusion. 
Lighting  his  pipe,  that  was  filled  with  sweet  Natchitoches  tobacco, 
Thus  he  spake  to  his  guests,  who  listened,  and  smiled  as  they  listened : — 
"  Welcome  once  more,  my  friends,  who  so  long  have  been  friendless 

and  homeless. 
Welcome  once  more  to  a  home,  that  is  better  perchance  than  the 

old  one ! 
Here  no  himgry  winter  congeals  our  blood  like  the  rivers ; 
Here  no  stony  ground  provokes  the  wrath  of  the  farmer. 
Smoothly  the  ploughshare  runs  tlirough  the  soil,  as  a  keel  through 

the  water. 
\  All  the  year  round  the  orange-groves  are  in  blossom ;  and  grass 

grows 
More  in  a  single  night  than  a  whole  Canadian  summer. 
Here,  too,  numberless  herds  run  wild  and  unclaimed  in  the  prairies ; 
Here,  too,  lands  may  be  had  for  the  asking,  and  forests  of  timber 
With  a  few  blows  of  the  axe  are  hewn  and  framed  into  houses. 
After  your  houses  arc  built,  and  your  fields  are  yellow  with  harvests. 


EVANGELINK. 


No  King  George  of  England  sliall  drive  you  away  fiom  your 

homesteads, 
Burning  your  dwellings  and  barns,  and  stealing  your  farms  and  your 

cattle." 
Speaking  these  words,  he  blew  a  wrathful  cloud  fi'om  his  nostrils, 
And  his  huge,  brawny  hand  came  thundering  down  on  the  table, 
So  that  the  guests  all  started ;  and  Father  Felieian,  astounded, 
Suddenly  paused,  with  a  pinch  of  snuft'  half-way  to  his  nostrils, 
liut  the  brave  Basil  resumed,  and  his  words  were  milder  and  gayer : — 
"  Only  beware  of  the  fever,  my  friends,  beware  of  the  fever ! 
For  it  is  not  like  that  of  our  cold  Acadian  climate. 
Cured  by  wearing  a  spider  hung  round  one's  neck  in  a  nutshell !" 
Then  there  were  voices  heard  at  the  door,  and  footsteps  approacliing 
Sounded  upon  the  stau's  and  the  floor  of  the  breezy  verandah. 
It  was  the  neighbom*ing  Creoles  and  small  Acadian  planters, 
Who  had  been  summoned  all  to  the  house  of  Basil  the  herdsman. 
Merry  the  meeting  was  of  ancient  comi-adcs  and  neighbours  : 
Friend  clasped  friend  in  his  arms ;  and  they  who  before  were  as 
\  strangers,  ^ 

Meeting  in  exile,  became  straightway  as  friends  to  each  other,       \ 
Drawn  by  the  gentle  bond  of  a  common  countiy  together. 
But  in  the  neighboming  hall  a  strain  of  music,  proceeding 
From  the  accordant  strings  of  Michael's  melodious  fiddle, 
.  Broke  up  all  further  speech.     Away,  like  children  delighted. 
All  things  forgotten  beside,  they  gave  themselves  to  the  maddening 
Whirl  of  the  dizzy  dance,  as  it  swept  and  swayed  to  the  music, 
Dreamlike,  with  beaming  eyes  and  the  rush  of  fluttering  garments. 


_i^ 


(i8 


KVANGELlNi;. 


I. 


Meanwhili',  upurt,  at  the  head  of  the  hall,  the  priest  and  the 
herdsman 
Sat,  conversing  together  of  past  and  present  and  future  ; 
While  Evangeline  stood  like  on    entranced,  for  within  her 
Olden  memories  rose,  and  loud  in  the  midst  of  the  music 
I  leaid  she  the  sound  of  the  sea,  and  an  irrepressible  sadness 
Came  o'er  her  heart,  and  unseen  she  stole  forth  into  the  garden. 
IJeautiful  was  the  night.     Behind  the  black  wall  of  the  forest, 
Tipping  its  summit  with  silver,  arose  the  moon.     On  the  river 
Fell  here  and  there  thi'ough  the  branches  a  tremulous  g:leam  of  the 

moonlight, 
Like  the  sweet  thoughts  of  love  on  a  darkened  and  devious  spirit. 
Nearer  and  round  about  her,  the  manifold  flowers  of  the  j^^arden 
Poured  out  theii*  souls  in  odours,  that  were  theu*  prayers  and 

confessions 
Unto  the  night,  as  it  went  its  wny,  like  a  silent  Carthusian. 
Fuller  of  fragrance  than  they,  and  as  heavy  with  shadows  and  night - 

dews. 
Hung  the  heart  of  the  maiden.     The  calm  and  the  magical  moonlight 
Seemed  to  inundate  her  soul  with  indefinable  longings. 
As,  thi'ough  the  garden  gate,  beneath  the  brown  shade  of  the  oak  trees. 
Passed  she  along  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the  measureless  prairie. 
Silent  it  lay,  with  a  silvery  haze  upon  it,  and  fire-tiies 
Gleaming  and  floating  away  in  mingled  and  infinite  numbers. 
Over  her  head  the  stars,  the  thoughts  of  God  in  the  heavens, 
Shone  on  the  eyes  of  man,  ^^ho  had  ceased  to  marvel  and  worsliij), 
Save  '-'hen  a  blazing  comet  was  seen  on  the  walls  of  that  temple, 


i;vAN(ii;i,iM:. 

As  if  a  liaiul  hud  uppoarocl  and  written  upon  them,  "  I'pliursin.  " 

And  the  soul  of  the  niaidcu,  hetweon  the  stars  and  tlie  Hre-Hies, 

Wandered  alone,  and  she  eried,     *♦  ()  Gabriel !    0  r.iy  beloved ! 

Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  I  eannot  behold  thee  ? 

Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  thy  voiee  docs  not  reach  me  ? 

Ah !  how  often  thy  feet  liave  trod  this  path  to  the  prairie ! 

Ah !  how  often  thine  eyes  have  looked  on  the  woodlands  around  me !  \ 

Ah!  how  often  beneath  this  oak,  returniiij^  frvuu  labour, 

Thou  hast  lain  down  to  rest,  and  to  di-eam  of  me  in  thy  slumbers. 

When  shall  these  eyes  behold,  these  arms  be  folded  about  thee  ?  " 

lioud,  and  sudden,  and  near,  the  note  of  a  whip-poor-will  sounded 

Like  a  flute   in   the  woods;  and   anon,  through   the  neighbouriny; 

thickets. 
Farther  and  farther  away  it  floated  and  di'oppcd  into  silence. 
••  Patience ! "  whispered  the  oaks  from  oracular  caverns  of  darkness ; 
And  from  the  moonlit  meadow  a  sigh  responded,  "  To-morrow !" 


Bright  rose  the  sun  next-day  ;  and  all  the  flowers  of  the  garden 
Bathed  his  shining;  feet  with  their  tears,  and  anointed  his  tresses 
AVitli  the  delicious  balm  that  they  bore  in  theu*  vases  of  crystiil. 
"  Farewell ! "  said  the  priest,  as  he  stood  at  the  shadowy  threshold ; 
"  See  that  you  bring  back  the  Prodigal  Sou  from  his  fastinj^  and 

famine. 
And,  too,  the  Foolish  Virgin,  who  slept  when  the  bvidegroom  was 

coming;. " 
"  Farewell!"  answered  the  maiden,  and,  smiling,  with  Basil  descended 
Down  to  the  river's  brink,  where  the  boatmen  already  were  waiting. 


It    ;'' 


70  K  VAN  OK  LINK. 

Thus   boj^iiiiiiiif?  tlicir  journey   with    iiKiniini?,  iiiul  MUiiMhiiic,  and 

ghulni'HH, 
Swiftly  they  followed  the  Hight  of  him  wh(»  wiis  speeding  before  them, 
lUown  by  the  bluHt  of  fate  like  a  diad  leaf  over  the  desert. 
Not  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  yet  the  day  that  suoeeeded, 
ImjuihI  they  traee  of  his  course,  in  lake  or  forest  or  river. 
Nor,  after  many  days,  had  they  found  him ;  but  vague  and  uncertain 
liumours  alone  wore  theii-  guides  through  a  wild  and  desolate  country ; 
Till,  at  the  little  inn  of  the  Spanish  town  of  Adayes, 
Weary  and  worn,  they  alighted,  and    learned  from   the   garrulous 

landlord. 
That  on  the  day  before,  with  horses  and  guides,  and  eomj)auious, 
Gabriel  left  the  village,  and  took  the  road  of  the  prairies. 


r 

;■  t* 

i 

'1 

t   , 

1 

^y'.yn! 


KVANfiKUNK. 


71 


*#^.- 


•Jt.. 


Far  in  the  west  there  lies  a  desert  land,  where  the  mountains 
Lift,  through  perpetual  snows,  their  lofty  and  luminous  summits. 
Down  from  their  desolate,  deep  ravines,  where  the  gorge,  like  a 

gatowaj', 
Opens  a  passage  rude  to  the  wheels  of  the  emigrant's  waggon, 
"Westward  the  Oregon  flows  and  the  Wallcway  and  Owyhee ; 


7« 


EVANGELINE. 


Eastward,  with  devious  course,  ainong-  the  Wiiul-river  Mountains, 
Tlirou^h  tlie  Sweet-water  VaUey  precipitate  leaps  the  Nebraska  ; 
And  to  the  south,  from  Fontaine-qui-bout  and  the  Spanish  sierras, 
Fretted  with  sands  and  rocks,  and  swept  by  the  wind  of  the  deseit, 
Numberless  torrents,  with  ceaseless  sound,  descend  to  the  ocean. 
Like  the  f?reat  chords  of  a  harp,  in  loud  and  solemn  vibrations. 
Spreading  between  these  stieams  are  the  wondrous,  beautiful  prairies, 
Billowy  bays  of  grass  ever  rolling  in  shadow  and  sunshine, 
liright  with  luxuriant  clusters  of  roses  and  purple  amorphas. 
Over  then'  wander  the  buffalo  herds,  and  the  elk,  and  the  roebuck ; 
Over  them  wander  the  wolves,  and  herds  of  riderless  horses ; 
Fii'cs  that  blast  and  blight,  and  winds  that  are  weary  with  travel ; 
Over  them  wander  the  scattered  tribes  of  Ishmael's  children, 
Staining  the  desert  with  blood ;  and  above  their  terrible  war-trails 
Circles  and  sails  aloft,  on  pinions  majestic,  the  vulture, 
liike  the  implacable  soul  of  a  chieftain  slaughtered  in  battle. 
By  invisible  stairs  ascending  and  scaling  the  heavens. 
Here  and  there  rise  smokes  from  the  camps  of  these  savage  marauders ; 
Here  and  there  rise  groves  froni  the  margins  of  swift-running  rivers ; 
And  the  grim,  taciturn  bear,  the  anchorite  monk  of  the  desert. 
Climbs  down  their  dark  ravines  to  dig  for  roots  by  the  brook-side, 
And  over  all  is  the  sky,  the  clear  and  crystalline  heaven, 
Lik(^  the  protecting  hand  of  God  inverted  above  them. 


Into  this  wonderful  land,  at  the  base  of  the  Ozark  mountains, 
(iabriel  far  had  entered,  with  hunters  and  trappers  behind  him. 
Day  after  day.  with  their  Indian  guides,  the  maiden  and  Basil 


EVANGELINE.  73 

Followed  his  flying  steps,  and  thought  each  day  to  o'ertake  him. 
Sometimes  they  saw,  or  thought  they  saw,  the  smoke  of  his  camp-fire 
Rise  in  the  morning  air  from  the  distant  plain ;  but  at  nightfall, 
When  they  had  reached  the  place,  they  found  only  embers  and  ashes. 
And,  though  their  hearts  were  sad  at  times  and  their  bodies  were 

weary, 
Hope  still  guided  them  on,  as  the  magic  Fata  Morgana 
Showed  them  her  lakes  of  light,  that  retreated  and  vanished  before 

them. 


Once,  as  they  sat  by  their  evening  fire,  there  silently  entered 
Into  the  little  camp  an  Indian  woman,  whose  featiu'es 
Wore  deep  traces  of  sorrow,  and  patience  as  great  as  her  sorrow. 
She  was  a  Shawnee  woman  returning  home  to  her  people, 
From  the  far-off  himting  grounds  of  the  cruel  Camanches, 
Where  her  Canadian  husband,  a  Com-eui'-des-Bois,  had  been  murdered. 
Touched  were  their  hearts  at  her  story,  and  warmest  and  friendliest 

welcome 
Gave  they,  with  words  of  cheer,  and  she  sat  and  feasted  among  them 
On  the  buffalo  meat  and  the  venison  cooked  on  the  embers. 
But  when  their  meal  was  done,  and  Basil  and  all  liis  companions, 
Worn  ^vitli  the  long  day's  march  and  the  chase  of  the  deer  and  the 

bison, 
Stretched  themselves  on  the  ground,  and  slept  where  the  quivering 

fire-light 
Flashed  on  their  swarthy  cheeks,  and  their  forms  wrapped  up  in  theii* 

blankets, 

K 


W«W»«»s*«Ji^Aiasi«j»»i 


74 


EVANGELINF. 


Then  at  the  door  of  Evangeline's  tent  she  sat  and  rcpeatal 

Slowly,  \vith  soft,  low  voice,  and  the  chann  of  her  Indian  accent. 

All  the  tale  ot  her  love,  with  its  pleasures,  and  pains,  and  reverses. 

Much  Evangeline  wept  at  the  tale,  and  to  know  that  another 

Hapless  heart  like  her  own  had  loved  and  had  been  disappointed. 

Moved  to  the  depths  of  her  soul  by  pity  and  woman's  compassion, 

Yet  in  her  sorrow  pleased  tliat  one  who  had  suffered  was  near  her, 

She  in  turn  related  her  love  and  all  its  disasters. 

Mute  with  wonder  the  Shawnee  sat,  and  when  she  had  ended 

Still  was  mute ;  but  at  length,  as  if  a  mysterious  hoi'ror 

Passed  through  her  brain,  she  spake,  and  repeated  the  tale  of  the 

Mowis ; 
Mowis,  the  bridegroom  of  snow,  who  won  and  wedded  a  maiden. 
But,  when  the  morning  came,  arose  and  passed  from  the  wigwam, 
Fading  and  melting  away  and  dissolving  into  the  sunshine. 
Till  she  beheld  him  no  more,  though  she  followed  far  into  the  forest. 
Then,  in  those  sweet,  low  tones,  that  seemed  like  a  weu'd  incantation, 
Told  she  the  tale  of  the  fair  Lilinau,  who  was  wooed  by  a  phantom. 
That,  through  the  pines  o'er  her  father's  lodge,  in  the  hush  of  the 

twilight. 
Breathed  like  the  evening  wind,  and  whispered  love  to  the  maiden. 
Till  she  followed  his  gi'een  and  wavmg  plume  thiough  the  forest. 
And  never  more  retiu-ned,  nor  was  seen  again  by  her  people. 
Silent  with  wonder  and  strange  sm*prise,  Evangeline  listened 
To  the  soft  flow  of  her  magical  words,  till  the  region  around  her 
Seemed  like  enchanted  gromid,  and  her  swarthy  guest  the  enchantress. 
Slowly  over  the  tops  of  the  Ozark  Mountains  the  moon  rose, 


KVANOELINE. 


75 


Lighting  the  little  tent,  and  with  a  mysterious  splendour 
Touching  the  sombre  lea\^es,  and  embracing  and  tilling  the  woodland. 
With  a  delicious  sound  the  brook  rushed  by,  and  the  branches 
Swayed  and  sighed  overhead  in  scarcely  audible  whispers. 
Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  love  was  Evangeline's  heart,  but  a  secret, 
Subtile  sense  crept  in  of  pain  and  indefinite  terror. 
As  the  cold,  poisonous  snake  creeps  into  the  nest  of  the  swallow. 
It  was  no  earthly  fear.     A  breath  fi'om  the  region  of  spirits 
Seemed  to  float  in  the  aii*  of  night ;  and  she  felt  for  a  moment 
That,  like  the  Indian  maid,  she,  too,  was  pursuing  a  phantom. 
And  with  tliis  thought  she  slept,  and  the  fear  and  the  phantom  had 
vanished. 


Early  upon  the  morrow  the  march  was  resumed ;  and  the  Shawnee 
Said,  as  they  journeyed  along, — "  On  the  western  slope  of  these 

mountains 
Dwells  in  his  little  village  the  Black  Ilobe  chief  of  the  Mission. 
Much  he  teaches  the  people,  and  tells  them  of  Mary  and  Jesus ; 
Loud  laugh  tlieii-  hearts  with  joy,  and  WTcp  with  pain,  as  they  hear 

him. " 
Then,  with  a  sudden  and  secret  emotion,  E^  angeiino  answered, — 
"  Let  us  go  to  the  Mission,  for  there  goul  tidings  await  is ! " 
Thither  they  tiu-ned  their  steeds ;  and  behind  a  spur  of  the  mountains^ 
Just  as  the  sun  went  down,  they  heard  a  murmm*  of  voices. 
And  in  a  meadow  green  and  broad,  by  the  bank  of  a  river. 
Saw  the  tents  of  the  Christians,  the  tents  of  the  Jesuit  Mission. 
Under  a  towering  oak,  that  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  village, 


EVANGELINE. 


t    li' 


!    I 


Knelt  the  Black  Robe  chief  with  his  children.     A  eiucitix  fastened 
High  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  overshadowed  by  grape-vines, 
Looked  with  its  agonized  face  on  the  multitude  kneeling  benearh  it. 
This  was  their  rural  chapel.    Aloft,  through  the  intricate  arches 
Of  its  aerial  roof,  arose  the  chant  of  their  vespers. 
Mingling  its  notes  with  the  soft  susurrus  and  sighs  of  the  branches. 


KVANGELINK. 


Silent,  with  heads  uncovered,  the  travellers,  nearer  approaching, 
Knelt  on  the  swarded  floor,  and  joined  in  the  evening  devotions. 
But  when  the  service  was  done,  and  the  henediction  had  fallen 
From  the  hands  of  the  priest,  like  seed  from  the  hands  of  the  sower. 
Slowly  the  reverend  man  advanced  to  the  strangers,  and  hade  them 
Welcome;  and  when  they  replied,  he  smiled  with  henignant  expression, 
Hearing  the  homelike  sounds  of  his  mothci'-tongue  in  the  forest. 
And  with  words  of  kindness  contacted  them  into  his  wigwnm. 
There  upon  mats  and  skins  they  reposed,  and  on  cakes  of  the 

maize-car 
Feasted,  and  slaked  their  thirst  from  the  water-gom-d  of  the  teacher. 
Soon  was  their  story  told ;  and  the  priest  with  solcnmity  answered : — 
"  Not  six  suns  have  risen  ar  d  set  since  Gabriel,  seated 
On  this  mat  by  my  side,  where  now  the  maiden  reposes, 
Told  me  this  same  sad  tale ;  then  arose  and  continued  his  journey ! " 
Soft  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  he  spake  with  an  accent  of 

kindness ; 
But  on  Evangeline's  heart  fell  his  -vords  as  in  winter  the 

snow-flakes 
Fall  into  some  lone  nest  from  which  the  birds  have  departed. 
"  Far  to  tile  north  he  has  gone, "  continued  the  priest ;  "  but  in  autumn. 
When  the  chase  is  done,  will  return  again  to  the  Mission.  " 
Then  Evangeline  said,  and  her  voice  was  meek  and  submissive, — 
"  Let  me  remain  with  thee,  for  my  soul  is  sad  and  afflicted. " 
So  seemed  it  wise  and  well  unto  all ;  and  betimes  on  the  morrow. 
Mounting  his  Mexican  steed,  with  his  Indian  guides  and  companions, 
Homeward  Basil  returned,  and  riVangeline  stayed  at  tlie  Mission. 


«55ai 


78 


EVANGELINE. 


IM 


i<  ' 


Slowly,  slowly,  slowly  the  days  succeeded  each  other, — ' 
Days,  and  weeks,  and  months;  and  the  fields  of  maize  that  were 

springing 
Green  from  the  ground  when  a  stranger  she  came,  now  waving  above 

her, 
lifted  their  slender  shafts,  with  leaves  interlacing,  and  forming 
Cloisters  for  mendicant  crows  and  granaries  pillaged  by  squu-rels. 
Then  in  the  golden  weather  the  maize  was  husked,  and  the  maidens 
Blushed  at  oacli  blood-red  ear,  for  that  betokened  a  lovei'. 
But  at  til      rooked  laughed,  and  called  it  a  thief  in  the  com  field. 
Even  the  bio  )d-red  ear  to  Evangeline  brought  not  her  lover. 
"Patiei.ce  !"  the  priest  would  say;  "have  faith,  and  thy  prayer  will 

bo  ar-     .>ed! 
Look  at  this  delicate  flower  that  lifts  its  head  from  the  meadow. 
See  how  its  leaves  all  point  to  the  north,  as  true  as  the  magnet ; 
it  is  the  compass-flower,  that  the  finger  of  God  hath  suspended 
Here  on  its  fragile  stalk,  to  dii-ect  the  traveller's  journey 
Over  the  sea-like,  pathless,  limitless  waste  of  the  desert. 
Such  in  the  soul  of  man  is  faith.     The  blossoms  of  passion. 
Gay  and  luxuriant  flowers,  are  brighter  and  fuller  of  fragrance, 
But  they  beguile  us,  and  lead  us  astray,  and  their  odom*  is  deadly. 
Only  thiy  humble  plant  can  guide  us  here,  and  hereafter 
Crown  us  with  asphodel  flowers,  th  ;'  arc  >v'et  with  the  dews  of 

nepenthe." 


So  came  the  autunui,  and  passed,  and  the  winter,  yet  Gabriel 
came  not ; 


KVANOEIJNF.. 


79 


ere 


ovc 


IS 


,V1 


ill 


Blossomed  the  opening  sprinf?,  and  the  notes  of  the  robin  and  blue-bird 

Sounded  sweet  upon  wold  and  in  wood,  yet  Gabriel  came  not. 

But  on  the  breath  of  the  summer  winds  a  rumour  was  wafted 

Sweeter  than  song  of  bird,  or  hue  or  odour  of  blossom. 

Far  to  the  north  and  east,  it  said,  in  the  Michigan  forests, 

Gabriel  had  his  lodge  by  the  banks  of  the  Saginaw  river. 

And,  with  returning  guides,  that  sought  the  lakes  of  St.  Lawrence, 

Saying  a  sad  farewell,  I'iVangelinc  went  from  the  Mission. 

When  over  weary  ways,  by  long  and  perilous  marches. 

She  had  attained  at  length  the  depths  of  the  Michigan  forests, 

Found  she  the  hmiter's  lodge  deserted  and  fallen  to  ruin ! 

Thus  did  the  long  sad  years  glide  on,  and  in  seasons  and  places 
Divers  and  distant  far  was  seen  the  wa.i^dcring  maiden  ; — 
Now  in  the  tents  of  grace  of  the  meek  Moravian  Missions, 
Now  in  the  noisy  camps  and  the  battle  fields  of  the  army. 
Now  in  secluded  hamlets,  in  towns  and  populous  cities. 
Like  a  phantom  she  came,  and  passed  away  unremembercd. 
Fair  was  she  and  young,  when  in  hope  began  the  long  jom-ney ; 
Faded  was  she  and  old,  when  in  disappointment  it  ended. 
Each  succeeding  year  stole  something  away  from  her  beauty. 
Leaving  behind  it,  broader  and  deeper,  the  gloom  and  the  shadow. 
Then  there  appeared  and  spread  faint  streaks  of  grey  o'er  her 

forehead. 
Dawn  of  another  life,  that  broke  o'er  her  e.uthly  horizon. 
As  in  the  eastern  sky  the  first  laint  streaks  of  the  morning. 


,'>wa(aMu>^ 


n'i^  mmJ  ii^-''-  taiimAUmA  I    f 


I  '• 


I!   '  1. 


M) 


KVANGELINK, 


V. 


m 

\H 


In  that  delightful  land  which  is  washed  by  the  Delaware's  waters, 
Guarding  in  Sylvan  shades  the  name  of  Penn  the  apostle, 
Stands  on  the  banks  of  its  beautiful  stream  the  city  he  foimdcd. 
There  all  the  air  is  balm,  and  the  peach  is  the  emblem  of  beauty, 
And  the  streets  still  re-echo  the  names  of  the  trees  of  the  forest, 
As  if  they  fain  would  appease  the  Dryads  whose  haunts  they  molested. 
There  from  the  troubled  sea  had  Evangeline  landed,  an  exile, 
Finding  among  the  children  of  Penn  a  home  and  a  countr}-. 


m 


EVANGKLINi; 


81 


itcd. 


There  old  Rene  Loblanc  had  died;  and  when  lie  departed, 

Saw  at  his  side  only  one  of  all  his  liundred  descendants. 

Something  at  least  there  was  in  the  friendly  streets  of  the  eity, 

Something:  that  spake  to  her  heart,  and  made  her  no  longer  a  stranger 

And  her  ear  was  pleased  >nth  the  Thee  and  Thou  of  the  Quakers, 

For  it  recalled  the  past,  the  old  Acadian  country, 

Wlierc  all  men  were  equal,  and  all  were  brothers  and  sisters. 
j 
'-  So,  when  the  fruitless  search,  the  disai)pointed  endeavour. 

Ended,  to  recommence  no  more  upon  earth,  uncompkl:^iig. 

Thither,  as  leaves  to  the  light,  were  tm'ned  her  thoujj,hts  and  her 

footsteps. 

As  from  a  momitain's  top  the  rainy  mists  of  the  morning 

Roll  away,  and  afar  we  behold  the  landscape  below  us. 

Sun-illumined,  with  shining  rivers  and  cities  and  hamlets, 

So  fell  the  mists  from  her  mind,  and  she  saw  the  world  far  below  her, 

Dark  no  longer,  but  all  illumined  with  love  ;  and  the  pathway 

"^^Tiieh  she  had  climbed  so  far,  lying  smooth  and  fair  in  the  distance. 

Gabriel  was  not  forgotten.     Within  her  heart  was  his  image, 

Clothed  in  the  beauty  of  love  and  youth,  as  last  she  beheld  him. 

Only  more  beautiful  made  by  liis  death-like  silence  and  absence. 

Into  her  thoughts  of  him  time  entered  not,  for  it  was  not. 

Over  him  years  had  no  power ;  he  was  not  changed,  but  transfigured ; 

Ho  had  become  to  her  heai't  as  one  w  ho  is  dead,  and  not  absent ; 

Patience  and  abnegation  of  self,  and  devotion  to  others. 

This  was  the  lesson  a  life  of  trial  and  sorrow  had  taught  her. 

So  was  her  love  diffused,  but,  like  to  some  odorous  spices. 

Suffered  no  waste  nor  loss,  though  filling  the  air  ^vith  aroma. 


Il 


11! 


fir 


82 


EVANGKI.INK. 


Other  hope  lind  she  iionc,  nor  winh  in  Hfr,  but  to  follow 
Mtikly,  with  rovcront  steps,  the  sacred  feet  of  her  Siivionr. 
Thus  many  years  she  lived  as  a  Sister  of  Mercy ;  frcquentinf,' 
Lonely  and  wretched  roofs  in  the  crowded  lanes  of  the  city, 
\Vhere  distress  and  want  concealed  themselves  from  the  sunlight, 
Where  disease  and  sorrow  iii  ^avwtH  lanjynished  neglected. 


Night  after  night,  when  the  world  was  asleci),  as  the  watchman 

repeated 
Loud,  through  the  gusty  streets,'^that  all  was  well  in  the  city. 
High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the  light  of  her  taper. 


EVANUKLlNi;. 


m 


t 


Day  alter  clay,  in  the  grey  of  the  dawn,  as  slow  through  the  suburbs 
Plodded  the  German  farmer,  with  flowers  and  fruits  for  the  market, 
Met  he  that  meek,  pale  face,  retm'niiig  home  from  its  watchings. 

Then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  pestilence  fell  on  the  city, 
Presaged  by  wondrous  signs,  and  mostly  by  flocks  of  wild  pigeons, 


'.1 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


1.0 


I.I 


|4£ 

ISO 


|2£    |2.5 

1^ 


M    12.0 


18 


1.25   IJU   |||||i^ 

^ 6" 

► 

y 


o\ 


/i 


.^' 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14510 

(716)  872-4503 


84 


EVANGELINE. 


i    i^ 


Darkening  the  sun  in  their  flight,  with  naught  in  their  craws  but  an 

acorn. 
And,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea  arise  in  the  month  of  September, 
Flooding  some  silver  stream,  till  it  spreads  to  a  lake  in  the  meadow, 
So  death  flooded  life,  and,  o'ei-flowing  its  natural  margin. 
Spread  to  a  brackish  lake  the  silver  stream  of  existence. 
.  Wealth  had  no  power  to  bribe,  nor  beauty  to  chann,  the  oppressor ; 
But  all  perished  alike  beneath  the  scoui'ge  of  his  anger ; — 
Only,  alas !  the  poor,  who  had  neither  friends  nor  attendants. 
Crept  away  to  die  in  the  almshouse,  home  of  the  homeless. 
Then  in  the  subm'bs  it  stood,  in  the  midst  of  meadows  and  wood- 
lands;— 
Now  the  city  surrounds  it ;  but  still,  with  its  gateway  and  wicket 
Meek,  in  the  midst  of  splendour,  its  humble  walls  seem  to  echo 
Softly  the  words  of  the  Lord : — "  The  poor  ye  always  have  with  you." 
Thither,  by  night  and  by  day,  came  the  Sister  of  Mercy.    The  dying 
Looked  up  into  her  face,  and  thought,  indeed,  to  behold  there 
Gleams  of  celestial  light  encu'cle  her  forehead  with  splendoui'. 
Such  as  the  artist  paints  o'er  the  brows  of  saints  and  apostles. 
Or  such  as  hangs  by  night  o'er  a  city  seen  at  a  distance. 
Unto  their  eyes  it  seemed  the  lamps  of  the  city  celestial. 
Into  whose  shining  gates  ere  long  their  spmts  would  enter. 


Thus,  on  a  Sabbath  mom,  through  the  streets,  deserted  and  silent, 
Wending  her  quiet  way,  she  entered  the  door  of  the  almshouse. 
Sweet  on  the  summer  air  was  the  odom*  of  flowers  in  the  garden  ; 
And  she  paused  on  her  way  to  gather  the  fau-est  among  them, 


KVANGELINK. 


85 


That  the  dying  once  more  might  rejoice  in  their  fragrance  and  beauty. 
Then,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  corridors,  cooled  by  the  east  wind, 
Distant  and  soft  on  her  car  fell  the  chimes  from  the  belfiy  of  Chiist 

Church, 
And,  intermingled  with  these,  across  the  meadows  were  wafted 
Sounds  of  psalms,  that  were  sung  by  the  Swedes  in  their  church  at 

Wicaco. 
Soft  as  descending  wings  fell  the  calm  of  the  hour  on  her  spirit ; 
Something  witliin  her  said, — "  At  length  thy  trials  ai'e  ended ;" 
And,  with  light  in  her  looks,  she  entered  the  chambers  of  sickness. 
Noiselessly  moved  about  the  assiduous,  careful  attendants, 
Moistening  the  feverish  lip,  and  the  aching  brow,  and  in  silence 
Closing  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  dead,  and  concealing  their  faces, 
Where  on  the  pallets  they  lay,  like  drifts  of  snow  by  the  road-side. 
Many  a  languid  head,  upraised  as  Evangeline  entered, 
Tm'ned  on  its  pillow  of  pain  to  gaze  while  she  passed,  for  her  presence 
Fell  on  their  hearts  like  a  ray  of  the  sun  on  the  walls  of  a  piison. 
And,  as  she  looked  around,  she  saw  how  Death,  the  consoler, 
Laying  his  hand  upon  many  a  heart,  had  healed  it  for  ever. 
Many  familiar  forms  had  disappeared  in  the  night-time  ; 
Vacant  their  places  were,  or  filled  already  by  strangers. 

Suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  fear  or  a  feeling  of  wonder, 
Still  she  stood,  with  her  colourless  lips  apart,  while  a  shudder 
Han  tlu'ough  her  frame,  and,  forgotten,  the  flowrcts  dropped  from 

her  fingers. 
And  from  her  eyes  and  cheeks  the  light  and  bloom  of  the  morning. 


w 


f:VANGELINK. 


Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry  of  such  terrible  anguish, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started  up  from  their  pillows. 
On  the  pallet  bc'fore  her  was  stretched  the  form  of  an  old  num. 
Long,  and  thin,  and  gray  were  the  locks  tliat  shaded  his  temples ; 
But,  as  Iv  lay  in  the  morning  light,  his  face  for  a  moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  forms  of  its  earlier  manhood  ; 
So  are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those  who  are  dying. 
Hot  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the  flush  of  the  fever, 
As  if  life,  like  the  Hebrew,  with  blood  had  besprinkled  its  portals, 
That  the  Angel  of  Death  might  see  the  sign,  and  pass  over. 
Motionless,  senseless,  djing,  he  lay,  and  his  spirit  exhausted- 
Seemed  to  be  sinking  down  thi'ough  infinite  depths  in  the  darkness, 
Darkness  of  slumber  and  death,  for  ever  sinking  and  sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in  midtiplied  reverberations. 
Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  tlirough  the  hush  that  succeeded 
Whispered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and  saint-like, 
'■  Gabriel !  O  my  beloved  !"  and  died  away  into  silence. 
Then  he  beheld,  in  a  di'cam,  once  more  the  home  of  liis  childhood ; 
Green  Acadian  meadows,  with  sylvan  rivers  among  them. 
Village,  and  mountain,  and  woodlands ;   and,  walking  under  then" 

shadow. 
As  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  Evangeline  rose  in  liis  vision. 
Teai's  came  into  his  eyes  ;  and  as  slowly  he  lifti;d  liis  eyelids, 
Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  knelt  by  his  bedside. 
Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name,  for  the  accents  unuttered 
Died  on  liis  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed  what  liis  tongue  would 

have  spoken. 


m 


liVANGELINLl. 


87 


Vainly  he  strove  to  rise  ;  and  Evangeline,  kneeling  beside  him, 

Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  bosom. 

Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes  ;  but  it  suddenly  sank  into  darkness, 

As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust  of  wind  at  a  casement. 

x\ll  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the  fear,  and  the  sorrow. 

All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied  longing. 

All  the  dull,  deep  pain,  and  constant  anguish  of  patience ! 

And,  as  she  pr.essed  once  more  the  lifeless  head  to  her  bosom. 

Meekly  she  bowed  her  own,  and  mm'mured,  "  Father,  I  thank  thee !" 


ii 


ti 


EVANGELINK. 


<iX^ 


liV 


- 1  ^ 


i  m 


Still  stands  the  forest  primeval ;  but  far  away  from  its  shadow, 
Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  graves,  the  lovers  are  sleeping. 
Under  the  humble  walls  of  the  little  Catholic  chui-chyard, 
In  the  heart  of  the  city,  they  lie,  unknown  and  unnoticed. 
Daily  the  tides  of  life  go  cbbmg  and  flowing  beside  them, 
Thousands  of  throbbing  hearts,  where  theirs  are  at  rest  and 

for  ever. 
Thousands  of  aching  brains,  where  theirs  no  longer  are  busy. 
Thousands  of  toiling  hands,  where  theirs  have  ceastd  from  their 

labours, 
Thousands  of  wcaiy  feet,  where  theirs  have  completed  their 

journey! 


EVANGELINE. 


80 


Still  stands  the  forest  primeval ;  but  under  the  shade  of  its  branches 
Dwells  another  race,  with  other  customs  and  language. 
Only  along  the  shore  of  the  mournfid  and  misty  Atlantic 
Linger  a  few  Acadian  pcasantsj  whose  fathers  ii'om  exile 
Wandered  back  to  their  native  land  to  die  in  its  bosom. 
In  the  fishcnnan's  cot  the  wheel  and  the  loom  are  still  busy ; 
Maidens  still  wear  theu*  Norman  caps  and  their  kirtles  of  home;^pun, 
And  by  the  evening  fire  repeat  Evangeline's  story, 
While  from  its  rocky  caverns  the  deep-voiced,  neighbouring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the  wail  of  the  forest. 


/• 


n.i'j^fmn:i' 


M 


iiiiiiaafajtiiiiteliiiiii^^ 


NOTES 


The  following  detail  of  the  facts  on  which  the  general  incidents  of  the  Poem  of 
Evangeline  are  founded,  is  derived  from  Haliburton's  History  of  Nova  Scotia. 

By  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht  the  province  of  Acadia  or  Nova  Scotia  was  ceded  by 
the  French  to  the  English  Government.  Nearly  half  a  century,  however,  wis 
suflfered  to  elapse  before  any  progress  was  made  towards  a  regular  settlement 
of  the  colony.  In  the  year  1749  a  large  body  of  emigrants,  aided  by  a 
grant  from  the  Crown,  arrived  in  the  colony,  and  immediate  steps  were  taken 
by  thdm  to  clear  the  groimd,  and  lay  the  foundation  of  the  town  of  Halifax. 
The  French  settlers,  who  had  been  located  in  the  province  for  many  years, 
looked  with  jealousy  on  these  proceedings,  and  parties  of  Indians  headed  by 
French  commanders  were  engaged  to  harass  the  new  comers.  This  state  of 
things  continued  for  some  years,  but  in  the  meantime  the  territorial  rights  of 
both  nations  were  more  distinctly  defined,  and  the  Acadians  took  an  oath 
of  fidelity  to  the  British  Government,  with  a  reservation,  however,  that  they 
were  not  to  be  called  upon  to  bear  arms.  Hostilities  again  commencing 
between  the  French  and  English,  Governor  Comwallis,  by  the  advice  of  his 
Council,  issued  a  proclamation,  ordering  all  the  French  inhabitants  of  the 
English  colony  to  appear  within  three  months,  and  take  the  oath  of  allegiance 
in  the  same  unreserved  and  unqualified  manner  as  British  subjects ;  and  he  held 
out  promises  to  those  who  should  think  proper  to  accept  the  same,  and  who 
would  also  engage  to  obey  aU  future  orders  of  the  government,  and  render  assist- 
ance to  English  settlers,  that  he  would  confirm  them  in  the  peaceable  possession 
of  all  their  cultivated  lands,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  their  religion.  He  fo  5  -'Te, 
however,  the  exportation  of  com,  cattle,  and  provisions,  to  foreign  settlemeiita. 

Pursuant  to  the  proclamation,  deputies  arrived  at  Halifax  from  sever"!  of 
the  French  settlements,  and  were  informed  by  the  Governor  that  the  oath 
of  fidelity,  formerly  accepted  of  them,  would  no  longer  be  received  as  a 
satisfactory  guarantee  for  their  good  conduct ;  that  no  exemption  from  bear- 
ing arms  in  time  of  war  could  be  allowed ;  that  His  Majesty  would  permit 
none  to  possess  lands  whose  allegiance  and  assistance  could  not  bo  depended 
upon ;  and  that  commissioners  would  be  sent  to  the  country  to  tender  them 
the  oath  expressed  in  the  same  form  as  that  used  by  English  subjects.  To 
this  they  replied,  that  if  they  should  undertake  to  aid  the  English  in  sup- 


— — ■ 


08 


NOTES. 


I-        ■ 

P'' 
I 

i.  ' 


lii. 


'ill 


li!     'A 


pressing  tho  Indians,  the  savages  would  pursue  them  with  unrolontinp;  hosti- 
lity ;  that  neither  they  nor  their  property  would  be  secure  from  their  ven- 
geance; and  that  to  bear  arms  against  their  countrymen  was  a  condition 
repugnant  to  tho  feelings  of  human  nature :  they,  therefore,  requested  to  bo 
informed,  if  they  chose  the  alternative  of  quitting  the  country,  whether  they 
would  be  permitted  to  sell  their  lands  and  personal  effects.  They  were  told 
in  reply,  that,  by  tho  Treaty  of  Utrecht,  one  year  was  allowed  to  them  for  dis- 
posing of  their  property,  which  period  having  elapsed,  they  coidd  now  neither 
part  with  their  effects,  nor  remove  from  tho  province.  Upon  hearing  this 
determination,  which  required  unconditional  allegiance,  or  reduced  them  to 
the  most  abject  poverty,  they  solicited  leave  to  consult  tho  Governors  of 
Canada  or  Cape  Breton  as  to  the  course  they  ought  to  adopt  in  this  trying 
emergency,  but  were  instantly  threatened  with  the  confiscation  of  their  real 
estate  and  effects  if  they  presumed  to  leave  the  province  until  they  had  first 
taken  tho  oaths  of  allegiance. 

No  immediate  steps,  however,  were  taken  to  carry  out  this  threat,  and  the 
English  settlers  still  continued  to  suffer  great  annoyance  from  the  predatory 
attacks  of  the  Indians,  who  were  aided  in  their  exctu-sions  by  the  French  colo- 
nists. This  state  of  things  lasted  for  some  time,  until  at  length  the  English 
troops  met  with  a  series  of  reverses,  when  it  was  finally  determined  by  tho 
GoveiTiment  authorities  to  effect  a  dislodgment  of  the  Acadians  from  their 
settlements,  and  to  disperse  the  entire  French  population  of  the  province 
among  the  British  colonies,  where  they  could  not  imite  in  any  offensive  mea- 
sures, and  where  they  might  be  naturalized  to  the  Government  and  country. 

The  execution  of  this  unusual  and  gcnci-al  sentence  was  allotted  chiefly  to 
the  New  England  forces,  the  commander  of  which,  from  the  humanity  and 
firmness  of  his  character,  was  well  qualified  to  carry  it  into  effect.  It  was 
wiihou'  loubt,  as  he  himself  declared,  disagreeable  to  his  natural  make  and 
tempo  and  his  principles  of  implicit  obedience  as  a  soldier  were  put  to  a 
severe  test  by  this  imgi'ateful  kind  of  duty,  which  requii'cd  an  ungenerous, 
cunning,  and  subtle  severity,  calculated  to  render  the  Acadians  subservient 
to  the  English  interests  to  the  latest  hour.  They  were  kept  entirely  ignorant 
of  their  destiny,  imtil  the  moment  of  their  captivity ;  and  were  overawed,  or 
allured,  to  labour  at  the  gathering  in  of  their  harvest,  which  was  secretly 
allotted  to  the  use  of  their  conquerors. 

The  orders  from  Lieutenant-Governor  Laurence  to  Captain  Murray,  who 
was  first  on  the  station,  with  a  plagiarism  of  tho  language,  without  the  spirit 


\ 


NOTKS. 


93 


of  Scripture,  diroctcd  that,  if  thoao  pooplc  boliavod  amiss,  th(>y  should  be  pun- 
ished at  his  discretion  ;  and,  if  any  attempts  were  made  to  destroy  or  molest 
the  troops,  he  sliould  take  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth ;  and,  in 
short,  life  for  life,  from  the  nearest  neighbour  where  the  mischief  should  be 
performed. 

To  hunt  these  people  into  captivity  was  a  measure  as  impracticable  as 
cruel ;  and,  as  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  they  would  voluntarily  suiTcndor 
themselves  as  prisoners,  their  subjugation  became  a  matter  of  great  difficulty. 
At  a  consultation  held  between  Colonel  Winslow  and  Captain  Murray,  it  was 
agreed  that  a  proclamation  shoidd  be  issued  at  the  different  settlements, 
requiring  the  attendance  of  the  people  at  the  respective  ports  on  the  same 
day ;  which  proclamation  should  bo  so  ambiguous  in  its  nature,  that  the  object 
for  which  they  were  to  assemble  coidd  not  be  discerned  ;  and  so  peremptory 
in  its  terms  as  to  ensure  implicit  obcdicneo.  This  insti-ument  having  been 
drafted  and  approved,  was  distributed  according  to  the  original  plan.  That 
which  was  addressed  to  the  people  inhabiting  the  country  now  comprised 
within  the  limits  of  King's  Country,  was  as  follows : — 


\ 


\ 


•TO  THE  INHABITANTS  OF  THE  DISTRICT  OF  GRAND  PRE,  MINAS,  RIVER 
CANARD,  &c.,  AS  WELL  ANCIENT  AS  YOUNG  MEN  AND  LADS. 

"Whereas  His  Excellency  the  Governor  has  instructed  us  of  his  late 
resolution  respecting  the  matter  proposed  to  the  inhabitants,  and  has  ordered 
us  to  communicate  the  same  in  person.  His  Excellency  being  desirous  that 
each  of  them  shoiUd  bo  fully  satisfied  of  His  Majesty's  intentions,  which  he 
has  also  ordered  us  to  commimicate  to  you,  such  as  they  have  been  given  to 
him;  wo  therefore  order  and  strictly  enjoin,  by  these  presents,  all  of  the 
inhabitants,  as  well  of  the  above-named  district  as  of  all  the  other  districts, 
both  old  men  and  young  men,  as  well  as  all  the  lads  of  ten  years  of  ago,  to  attend 
at  the  Church  at  Grand  Pre,  on  Friday  the  fifth  instant,  at  three  of  the  clock 
in  the  afternoon,  that  we  may  impart  to  them  what  wo  arc  ordered  to  com- 
municate to  them ;  declaring  that  no  excuse  will  be  admitted  on  any  pretence 
whatever,  on  pain  of  forfeiting  goods  and  chattels,  in  default  of  real  estate. 

"  Given  at  Grand  Pre,  2nd  September,  1755,  and  29th  year  of  His 


Majesty's  reign. 


John  Winslow.' 


In  obedience  to  this  summons,  four  hundred  and  eighteen  able-bodied  men 
assembled.    These  being  shut  into  the  Church  (for  that,  too,  had  become  an 


liiillHii 


imi 


/ 


04 


NOTES. 


IN 


K 


!.;l; 


»fi 


arsenal),  Colonel  Winf*low  placed  hinieolf  with  his  officers  in  the  centre,  and 
addressed  thenx  tliiu  :  - 

"  Gentlemen, — I  have  received  from  Ilia  Excellency  Governor  Laurence 
the  King's  commission,  which  I  have  in  my  hand  ;  and  by  his  orders  you  arc 
convened  together  to  manifest  to  you  Ilis  Majesty's  final  resolution  to  the 
French  inhabitants  of  this  his  province  of  Nova  Scotia,  who,  for  almost  half 
a  centiuy,  have  had  more  indulgence  granted  them  than  any  of  his  subjects 
in  any  part  of  his  dominions ;  what  use  you  have  made  of  it  you  yourselves 
best  know.  The  part  of  duty  I  am  now  upon,  though  necessary,  is  very  dis- 
agreeable to  my  natural  malco  and  temper,  as  I  know  it  must  bo  grievous  to 
you,  who  arc  of  the  same  species ;  but  it  is  not  my  business  to  animadvert 
but  to  obey  such  orders  as  I  receive,  and,  therefore,  without  hesitation  shall 
deliver  you  His  Majesty's  orders  and  instructions,  namely,  that  your  lands 
and  tenements,  cattle  of  all  kinds,  and  live  stock  of  all  sorts,  ore  forfeited  to 
the  Crown,  With  all  other  your  eflccl.^,  saving  your  money  and  household 
goods,  and  you  yoiu'selvcs  to  be  removed  from  this  his  province. 

"  Thus  it  is  peremptorily  His  Mnjesly's  orders  that  the  whole  French 
inliabitants  of  these  dihtriets  bo  removed ;  and  I  am,  thiough  Ilis  Majesty's 
gooduesf,  directed  to  allow  you  libcrfy  to  cairy  off  your  money  and  house- 
hold goods,  as  mpny  as  you  can,  without  discommoding  the  vessels  you  go  in. 
I  .'iLall  do  evciylUing  in  my  power  that  all  those  goods  bo  secured  to  you,  and 
that  you  arc  not  molested  in  carrying  them  off;  also,  that  whole  families 
shall  go  in  the  same  vessel,  and  make  this  remove,  which  I  am  sensible  must 
givo  you  a  great  detil  of  tioublc,  as  easy  as  His  Majesty's  sci  vice  will  admit ; 
and  hope  that,  in  whulevcr  pait  of  the  woild  you  may  fall,  you  may  be  faith- 
ful subjcc's,  a  peaceable  and  happy  people.  I  must  also  infonn  you,  that  it 
is  His  Majesty's  pleasure  that  you  remain  in  security,  under  the  inspection 
and  (liiection  of  the  troops  that  I  have  the  honour  to  command."  And  he 
then  declared  them  the  King's  prisoners. 

The  whole  number  of  persons  collected  at  Grand  Pre  finally  amoimted  to 
four  himdred  and  eighty-three  men,  and  three  hundred  and  thirty-seven 
women,  heads  of  families ;  and  their  sons  and  daughters  to  five  himdred  and 
twenty-seven  of  the  former,  and  five  himdred  and  twenty-six  of  the  latter; 
making,  in  the  whole,  one  thousand  nine  hundred  and  twenty-three  souls. 
Theii-  stock  consisted  of  one  thousand  two  himdred  and  sixty-nine  oxen,  one 
thousand  five  hundred  and  fifty-seven  cows,  five  thousand  and  seven  young 
cattle,  four  hundred  and   ninety-three  horses,  eight   thousand    six   hun- 


W    *^! 


u.ki 


NOTES. 


(Ircd  ond  ninoty  sheep,  and  four  thoiiaanil  one  hundred  and  ninety-seven 
hogH.  Ah  some  of  these  wretched  inhabitants  os(;aped  to  the  woods,  all  possible 
measures  were  adopted  to  force  them  back  to  captivity.  The  coimtrj  was  laid 
waste  to  prevent  theii*  subsistence.  In  the  district  of  Minas  ulone,  there  wcro 
destroyed  two  himdred  and  fifty-five  houses,  two  hundred  and  seventy-six 
boms,  one  himdi-od  and  fifty-five  out-hoiiacs,  eleven  mills,  and  one  church ; 
and  the  friends  of  those  who  refused  to  surrender,  were  threatened  as  the  vic- 
tims of  their  obstinacy. 

In  short,  so  operative  were  the  terrors  that  siurounded  them,  that  of 
twenty-four  young  men,  deserted  from  a  transport,  twenty-two  wore  glad  to 
return  of  themselves,  the  others  being  shot  by  sentinels;  and  one  of  their  friends, 
who  was  supposed  to  have  been  accessory  to  their  escape,  was  carried  on  shore  to 
behold  the  destruction  of  his  house  and  effects,  which  were  burned  in  hia 
presence  as  a  punishment  fo'-liis  temerity  and  perfidious  aid  to  his  comrades. 
The  prisoners  expressed  the  greatest  concern  at  having  incurred  His  Majesty's 
displeasure,  and  in  a  petition,  addressed  to  Colonel  Winslow,  entreated  him  to 
detain  a  part  of  them  as  sureties  for  the  appearance  of  the  rest,  who  were  de- 
sirous of  visiting  their  families,  and  consoling  them  in  their  distress  and 
misfortunes. 

To  comply  with  this  request  of  holding  a  few  as  hostages  for  the  surrender 
of  the  whole  body,  wm  deemed  incoj^sistent  with  his  instructions;  but,  as 
there  could  be  no  objection  to  allow  a  small  number  of  them  to  retiun  to  their 
hoaies,  permission  was  given  to  them  to  choose  ten  for  the  district  of  Minas 
(Ilorton),  and  ten  for  the  district  of  Canard  (Comwallis),  to  whom  leave  of 
absence  was  given  for  one  day ;  and  on  whose  return,  a  similnr  number  were 
indulged  in  the  same  manner.  They  bore  their  confinement,  and  received 
their  sentence  with  a  fortitude  and  resignation  altogether  unexpected ;  but 
when  the  hour  of  embarkation  airived,  in  which  they  were  to  leave  the  land 
of  their  nativity  for  ever — to  part  with  their  friends  and  relatives,  without  the 
hope  of  ever  seeing  them  again,  and  to  bo  dispersed  among  strangers  whose 
language,  customs,  and  religion  were  opposed  to  their  own — the  weakness 
of  human  nature  prevailed,  and  they  wore  overpowered  with  the  sense  of  their 
miseries.  The  preparations  having  been  all  completed,  the  10th  of  September 
was  fixed  upon  as  the  day  of  departure.  The  prisoners  were  drawn  up  six 
deep,  and  the  young  men,  one  himdrcd  and  sixty-one  in  number,  were  ordered 
to  go  first  on  board  of  the  vessels.  This  they  instantly  and  peremptorily 
refused  to  do,  declaring  that  they  would  not  leave  their  parents ;  but  expressed 


90 


NOTES, 


i;: 


i' 

■nl 

h 

i\ 

If 


^1 


a  willingness  to  comply  with  the  order,  provided  they  M'ere  permitted  to  em- 
bark with  their  fiiniilies.  This  request  was  immediately  rejected,  and  the 
troops  were  ordered  to  fix  bayonets  and  advance  towards  the  prisoners,  a  mo- 
tion which  had  the  effect  of  producing  obedience  on  the  part  of  the  yoimg  men, 
who  forthwith  conunenccd  their  march.  The  road  from  the  chapel  to  the  shore, 
just  one  mile  in  length,  was  crowded  with  women  and  children,  who,  on  theii' 
knees,  greeted  them  as  they  passed  with  their  tears  and  their  blessings ;  while 
the  prisoners  advanced  with  slow  and  reluctant  steps,  weeping,  praying,  and 
singing  hymns.  This  detachment  was  followed  by  the  seniors,  who  passed 
thi'ough  the  same  scene  of  sorrow  and  distress.  In  this  manner  was  the  whole 
part  of  the  male  popiUation  of  the  district  of  Minas  put  on  board  the  five 
transports,  stationed  in  the  river  Gaspcreau;  each  vessel  being  guarded  by 
six  non-commissioned  officers  and  eighty  privates.  As  soon  as  the  other 
vessels  anivcd,  their  wives  and  children  followed,  and  the  whole  were  trans- 
ported from  Nova  Scotia. 

The  haste  with,  which  these  measures  w  v  re  carried  into  execution  did  not 
admit  of  those  preparations  for  their  comfort  which,  if  unmerited  by  theii' 
disloyalty,  were  at  least  due  in  pity  to  the  severity  of  their  pimishment.  The 
hurrj'-,  confusion,  and  excitement  connected  with  the  embarkation  had  scarcely 
subsided,  when  the  provincials  were  appalled  at  the  work  of  their  own  hands. 
The  novelty  and  peculiarity  of  their  situation  could  not  but  force  itself  upon 
the  attention  of  even  the  unreflecting  soldiery.  Stationed  in  the  mi'lst  of  a 
beautiful  and  fertile  comitiy,  they  suddenly  found  themselves  wdthout  a  foe  to 
subdue,  and  without  a  population  to  protect.  The  volumes  of  smoke  which 
the  half-expiring  embers  emitted,  whUe  they  marked  the  site  of  the  peasant's 
humble  cottage,  bore  testimony  to  the  extent  of  the  work  of  destruction.  For 
several  successive  evenings  the  cattle  assembled  round  the  smouldering  ruins, 
as  if  in  anxious  expectation  of  the  return  of  thou-  masters ;  while  all  night  long 
the  faithful  watch-dogs  of  the  neutrals  howled  over  the  scene  of  desolation,  and 
mourned  alike  the  hand  that  had  fed  and  the  house  that  had  sheltered  them. 

At  Annapolis  and  Cumberland  the  proclamation  was  disobeyed  by  the 
French,  in  consequence  of  an  apprehension  that  they  were  to  be  imprisoned 
or  sent  captives  to  Halifax.  At  the  former  i)lace,  when  the  ships  arrived  to 
convey  them  from  their  countrj',  a  paity  of  soldiers  was  despatched  up  the 
river  to  biing  them  in  by  force ;  but  they  found  the  houses  deserted,  and 
learned  that  the  people  had  fled  to  the  woods,  carrying  with  them  their  wives 
and  children.     Hunger,  fatigue,  and  distress  finally  compelled  many  of  them 


I' 3 


NOTES. 


97 


to  return  and  surreudov  themselves  as  prisoners,  while  some  retired  to  the 
depths  of  the  forest,  where  they  encamped  with  the  Indians,  and  others 
wandered  through  the  woods  to  Chiegnecto,  from  whence  they  escaped  to 
Canada.  In  Cumberland  it  was  found  necessary  to  resort  to  the  most  severe 
measures,  and  the  country  presented  for  several  days  a  dreadful  scene  of  con- 
flagration. Two  hundi-ed  and  fifty-three  houses  were  on  fiie  at  one  timt .  in 
which  a  gieat  quantity  of  wheat  and  flax  were  consumed.  The  miserable  in- 
habitants beheld  from  the  adjoining  woods  the  destruction  of  their  buildings 
and  household  goods,  with  horror  and  dismay  ;  nor  did  they  venture  to  offer 
any  resistance,  until  the  wanton  attempt  was  made  to  bum  their  Chapel. 
This  they  considered  as  adding  insult  to  injury,  and  rushing  iipon  the  party, 
who  were  too  intent  upon  the  execution  of  theii*  orders,  to  observe  the 
necessary  precautions  to  prevent  a  surprise,  they  killed  and  wounded  twenty - 
nine  rank  and  file,  and  then  retreated  again  to  the  cover  of  the  forest.  As 
the  different  Acadian  settlements  were  too  widely  dispersed  to  admit  of  the 
plan  of  subjugation  being  carried  into  effect  at  once ;  and  as  it  had  but  par- 
tially succeeded  at  two  of  the  most  populous  districts,  only  seven  thousand  of 
the  inhabitants  were  collected  at  this  time,  and  dispersed  among  the  several 
British  Colonies.  One  thousand  arrived  in  Massachusetts  Bay,  and  became  a 
public  expense,  owing,  in  a  great  degree,  to  an  unchangeable  antipathy  to  theii- 
situation;  which  prompted  them  to  reject  the  usual  bcneficiaiy,  but  humiliat- 
ing establishment  of  paupers  for  their  children.  They  landed  in  a  most  de- 
plorable condition  at  Philadelphia.  The  Government  of  the  Colony,  to 
relieve  itself  of  the  charge  such  a  company  of  miserable  wretches  would 
require  to  maintain  them,  proposed  to  sell  them,  with  their  own  consent ; 
but  when  this  expedient  for  tlieir  support  was  offered  for  their  consideration, 
the  neutrals  refused  it  with  indignation,  alledging  that  they  were  prisoners, 
and  expected  to  be  maintained  as  such,  and  not  forced  to  labour.  But  not- 
withstanding the  severity  of  the  treatment  the  Acadians  had  experienced, 
they  sighed  in  exile  to  revisit  their  native  laixd.  That  portion  of  them  which 
had  been  sent  to  Georgia  actually  set  out  on  theii-  return,  and  by  a  cu-cuitous, 
hazardous,  and  laborious  coasting  voyage,  had  reached  New  York,  and  even 
Boston,  when  they  M^ere  met  by  orders  from  Governor  Laui-ence,  for  their  de- 
tention, and  were  compelled  to  relinquish  their  design.  The  others,  denying 
the  charges  which  had  been  made  against  them,  petitioned  His  Majesty  for 
a  legal  hearing. 

This  petition,  w  hioh  Haliburton  gives  at  full  length,  sets  forth,  that  by 

N 


g:;  t  ^4.l».»JJUI,.  HL-.-iWIIU  ill.t.imnl]IIU«»W  ' 


\u 


i  '■ 


m 


rir  *■ 


98  NOTES, 

an  agreement  made  between  the  British  commanders  in  Nova  Scotia  and  the 
forefathers  of  the  petitioners,  about  the  year  1713,  the  latter  were  to  be 
permitted  to  remain  in  possession  of  their  lands  under  an  oath^f  fidelity  to 
the  Bntish  Government,  with  an  exemption  from  bearing  arms  {l|j^dnst  either 
French  or  Indians,  and  with  the  allowance  of  the  free  exercise  of  their  reli- 
gion. Seventeen  years  later  this  agreement  was  renewed  on  the  part  of  the 
British  authorities  by  the  Governor  of  New  England ;  and  again,  after  the 
expiration  of  another  seventeen  years,  in  a  declaration  which  the  same 
Governor  addressed  to  the  Acadians  in  answer  to  a  report  at  that  time  current 
which  stated  it  to  be  the  intention  of  the  British  Government  to  remove 
the  French  inhabitants  of  Nova  Scotia  from  their  settlements  in  that  province. 
This  declaration  was  further  confirmed  by  a  letter  written  in  the  same  year 
by  the  chief  commander  in  Nova  Scotia  to  the  Acadian  deputies ;  an  extract 
from  which  was  given  by  the  Acadians  in  their  petition. 

After  stating  the  difficulties  in  which  they  foimd  themselves  placed  by 
the  frequent  incursions  made  by  the  French  through  that  portion  of  the  pro- 
vince inhabited  by  the  Acadian  population,  for  the  purpose  of  annoying  the 
English,  who  were  at  that  time  engaged  in  fortifying  and  settling  Halifax, 
the  petitioners  proceed  to  reply  to  what  appears  to  have  been  the  main  charges 
made  against  them,  and  on  the  presumed  truth  of  which  their  forcible  removal 
from  the  province  took  place.     The  justification  they  plead  is  as  follows : — 

"We  were  likewise  obliged  to  comply  with  the  demand  of  the  enemy, 
made  for  provision,  cattle,  &c.,  upon  pain  of  military  execution,  which  we 
had  reason  to  believe  the  Government  was  made  sensible  was  not  an  act  of 
choice  on  om-  part,  but  of  necessity,  as  those  in  authority  appeared  to  take  in 
good  part  the  representations  we  always  made  to  them  after  anything  of  that 
nature  had  happened. 

"  Notwithstanding  the  many  difficulties  we  thus  laboured  under,  yet  we 
dare  appeal  to  the  several  Governors,  both  at  Halifax  and  Annapolis-Royal, 
for  testimonies  of  our  being  always  ready  and  willing  to  obey  their  orders, 
and  give  all  the  assistance  in  oiu:  power,  cither  in  famishing  provisions  and 
materials,  or  making  roads,  building  forts,  &c.,  agreeable  to  Your  Majesty's 
orders  and  our  oath  of  fidelity,  whensoever  called  upon,  or  required  thereimto. 

"  It  was  also  our  constant  care  to  give  notice  to  Your  Majesty's  com- 
manders of  the  danger  they  have  been  from  time  to  time  exposed  to  by  the 
enemy's  troops ;  and  had  the  intelligence  we  gave  been  always  attended  to, 
many  lives  might  have  been  spared,  particularly  in  the  unhappy  affiiir  which 


I'mii 


NOTES. 


«)» 


tax. 


befcl  Major  Noble  and  his  brother  at  Grand  Pre,  when  they,  with  great  numbers 
of  their  men,  were  cut  off  by  the  enemy,  notwithstanding  the  frccjuent  advices 
we  had  given  them  of  the  danger  they  were  in ;  and  yet  we  have  been  very 
unjustly  accuaed  as  parties  in  that  massacre. 

"And  although  we  have  been  thus  anxiously  concerned  to  manifest  our 
fidelity  in  these  several  respects,  yet  it  has  been  falsely  insinuated  that  it  had 
been  our  general  practice  to  abet  and  support  Your  Majesty's  enemies ;  but  we 
trust  that  Your  Majesty  will  not  suffer  suspicions  and  accusations  to  be 
received  as  proofs  sufficient  to  reduce  some  thousands  of  innocent  people,  from 
the  most  happy  situation  to  a  state  of  the  greatest  distress  and  misery !  No, 
this  was  far  from  our  thoughts  ;  we  esteemed  oiu:  situation  so  happy  as  by  no 
means  to  desire  a  change.  We  have  always  desired,  and  again  desire  that  we 
may  be  permitted  to  answer  our  accusers  in  a  judicial  way.  lu  the  meantime 
permit  us.  Sir,  here  solemnly  to  declare,  that  these  accusations  arc  utterly  false 
and  groundless  so  far  as  they  concern  us  as  a  collective  body  of  people.  It 
hath  been  always  our  desire  to  live  as  our  fathers  have  donej  as  faithful  sub- 
jects imdcr  Your  Majesty's  royal  protection,  with  an  unfeigned  resolution  to 
maintain  our  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  utmost  of  our  power.  Yet  it  cannot  be 
expected,  but  that  amongst  us,  as  well  as  amongst  other  people,  there  have  been 
some  weak  and  false-hearted  persons,  susceptible  of  being  bribed  by  the  enemy 
so  as  to  break  the  oath  of  fidelity.  Twelve  of  these  were  outlawed  in  Go- 
vernor Shirley's  proclamation  before  mentioned ;  but  it  will  bo  foimd  that  the 
number  of  such  false-hearted  men  amongst  us  was  very  few,  considering  our 
situation,  the  number  of  oiu-  inhabitants,  and  how  we  stood  circumstanced  in 
several  rcspcits,  and  it  may  be  easily  made  appear,  that  it  was  the  constant 
(tare  of  our  deputies  to  prevent  and  put  a  stop  to  such  wicked  conduct,  when 
it  came  to  their  knowlcdg(\" 

This  memorial  had  not  the  effect  of  procuring  them  redress,  and  they  were 
left  to  undergo  their  punishniont  in  exile,  and  to  mingle  with  the  population 
among  whom  they  were  distributed,  wit^  the  hope  that  in  time  their  language, 
predilections,  and  even  the  recollection  of  their  origin,  would  be  lost  amids\ 
the  mass  of  English  people  with  whom  they  were  iucorijorated.  Such  was 
the  fate  of  these  unfortunate  and  deluded  people.  Upon  an  impartial  review 
of  the  transactions  of  this  period,  it  must  be  admitted,  that  the  transportation 
of  tlie  Acadians  to  distant  colonies,  with  all  the  marks  of  ignominy  and  guilt 
pecidiar  to  convicts,  was  cruel ;  and  although  such  a  conclusion  could  not  then 
be  drawn,  yet  subsequent  events  have  disclosed  that  their  expidsion  was 


,:,!> 


H'l 


P'i' 


t;v 


'•■  ;•:'■ 


100 


NOTES 


unnecessary.  It  seems  totally  irreeoncilable  with  the  idea,  as  at  this  day 
entertained  of  justice,  that  those  who  are  not  involved  in  the  guilt  shall  par- 
ticipate in  the  punishment ;  or  that  a  whole  community  shall  suffer  for  the 
misconduct  of  a  part.  It  is,  doubtless,  a  stain  on  the  Provincial  Councils,  and 
we  shall  not  attempt  to  justify  that  which  all  good  men  have  agreed  to  con- 
demn. But  we  must  not  lose  sight  of  the  offence  in  pity  for  the  culprits,  nor, 
in  the  indulgence  of  our  indignation,  forget  that  although  nothing  can  be 
offered  in  defence,  much  may  be  produced  in  palliation  of  this  transaction. 
Had  the  milder  sentence  of  unrestricted  exile  been  passed  upon  them,  it  was 
obvious  that  it  would  have  had  the  effect  of  recniiting  the  strength  of  Canada, 
and  that  they  would  naturally  have  engaged  in  those  attempts  which  the 
French  were  constantly  making  for  the  recovery  of  the  rrovincc. 

ITiree  hundred  of  them  had  been  foimd  in  arms  at  one  time ;  and  no  doubt 
existed  of  others  having  advised  and  assisted  the  Indians  in  those  nimierous 
acts  of  hostility,  which,  at  that  time,  totally  interrupted  the  settlement  of  the 
coimtry.  When  aU  were  thus  suspected  of  being  disaffected,  and  many  were 
detected  in  open  rebellion,  what  confidence  could  be  placed  in  their  future 
loyalty  ? 

It  was  also  deemed  impracticable  in  those  days  of  religious  rancour  for 
the  English  colonists  to  mingle  in  the  same  community  with  Frenchmen  and 
Catholics.  Those  persons  who  are  acquainted  with  the  early  history  of  the 
neighbouring  colonies  of  New  England,  will  easily  perceive  of  what  magnitude, 
this  objection  must  have  appeared  at  that  period.  Amidst  all  these  difficulties 
surrounded  by  a  vigilant  and  powerful  enemy,  and  bxulhened  with  a  population 
whose  attachment  was  more  than  doubtful,  what  course  could  the  Governor 
adopt,  which,  while  it  ensured  the  tranquility  of  the  colony,  shoiild  temper 
justice  with  mercy  to  those  misguided  people  ?  "With  the  knowledge  we  now 
possess  of  the  issue  of  a  contest  which  was  then  extremely  luicertain,  it  might 
not  be  difficult  to  point  to  the  measures  which  should  have  been  adopted ;  but 
we  must  admit,  that  the  choice  was  attended  with  circumstances  of  peculiai- 
embaiTassment.  If  the  Acadians,  therefore,  had  to  lament  that  they  were 
condemned  unheard,  that  their  accusers  were  also  their  judges,  and  that  their 
sentence  was  disproportioned  to  their  offence ;  they  had  also  much  reason  to 
attribute  their  misfortunes  to  the  intrigues  of  their  coimtiymen  in  Canada, 
who  seduced  them  from  their  allegiance  to  a  government  which  was  disposed 
to  extend  to  them  its  protection  and  regard,  and  instigated  them  to  a  rebellion, 
which  it  M'as  easy  to  foresee,  would  end  in  their  ruin. 


NOTES.  jg 

Vmf  meadotvs  stretched  to  the  eastward. 
Giving  the  village  its  name,  a/id  jHistnre  tojlochs  wiV  out  number. 
Bikes,  that  the  hands  of  the  farmers  had  raised  with  labour  incessant, 
Shtd  out  the  turbulent  tides. — Page  3. 

"  Hunting  and  fishing  gave  way  to  agricultui-c,  which  had  been  establisht-d 
in  the  marshes  and  lowlands,  by  repelling,  Avith  dikes,  the  sea  and  rivers 
which  covered  these  plains.  At  the  same  time  these  immense  meadows  were 
covered  with  numcrons  flocks." — JTaliburton. 


Hut  their  dtcellings  ivere  open  as  day  and  the  hearts  of  the  owners ; 
Tliere  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived  in  abundance. — Page  5. 

"  Ileal  niisciy  was  wholly  unknown,  and  benevolence  anticipated  the  de- 
mands of  poverty.  Every  misfortune  was  relieved,  as  it  were,  before  it  could 
be  felt,  without  ostentation  on  the  one  hand,  and  without  meanness  on  the 
other.    It  was,  in  short,  a  society  of  brethren." — Abbe  Regnal. 


Built  are  the  house  and  the  barn.     The  merry  lads  of  the  ■village 

Strongly  have  built  them  and  u'cll ;  and,  breaking  the  glebe  round  about  them, 

Filled  the  barn  with  hay,  and  the  house  xvith  food  for  a  twelvemonth. — Page  19. 

"  As  soon  as  a  young  man  arrived  at  the  proper  age,  the  community  built 
him  a  house,  broke  up  the  lands  about  it,  and  supplied  him  with  all  the  neces- 
saries of  life  for  a  twelvemonth.  There  ho  received  the  partner  whom  he  had 
chosen,  and  who  brought  him  her  portion  in  flocks." — Abbe  Reynal. 


Four  long  years  in  the  times  of  the  war  had  he  languished  a  captive, 
Suffering  much  in  an  old  French  fort  as  the  friend  of  the  English. — Page  21. 

"  Rene  Lehlanc  (our  pi.blic  notary)  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Indians  when 
actually  travelling  in  Your  Majesty's  service,  his  house  pillaged,  and  himself 
carried  to  the  French  fort,  from  ^\■hencc  ho  did  not  recover  his  liberty,  but 
with  great  difliculty,  after  four  years'  captivity." — Petition  of  the  Acadians  to 
the  King. 


fr  " 


H^      M 


»•'  i  m 


.  i 


Is 

1. 

«' 

1  j 

1^  : 

\ 

V  ' 

•>    lit 


104 


NOTES. 


In  the  confusion 
Wives  were  torn  from  their  husbands,  and  mothers,  too  late,  saw  their  children 
Left  on  the  land,  extending  their  arms,  with  wildest  entreaties. — Page  39, 

"  Parents  woro  separated  from  childi'cn,  and  Imsbands  from  wives,  some  of 
whom  have  not  to  this  day  met  again ;  and  we  were  so  crowded  in  the  trans- 
port vessels,  that  wo  had  not  room  even  for  all  our  bodies  to  lay  down  at  once, 
and,  consequently,  were  prevented  from  carrying  with  us  proper  necessaries, 
especially  for  the  support  and  comfort  of  the  aged  and  weak,  many  of  whom 
quickly  ended  their  misery  with  their  lives." — retition  of  the  Aeadians  to  the 
King. 

Many,  despairing,  heart-hrokcn, 
Asked  of  the  earth  hut  a  grave,  and  no  longer  a  friend  nor  a  fireside. 
Written  their  history  stands  on  tabkts  of  stone  in  the  churchyards.— 1''a.ge  48. 

"  "We  huve  already  seen,  in  this  proA-ince  of  Ptinnsylvania,  two  hundred 
and  fifty  of  our  people,  which  is  more  than  half  the  numhcr  that  were  landed 
hero,  perish  thi'ough  misciy  and  various  diseases." — Petition  of  the  Aeadians  to 
the  King. 


There  old  liene  Lehlanc  had  died ;  and  when  he  departed. 

Saw  at  his  side  only  one  of  all  his  hundred  descendants. — Page  81. 

"  Jlcno  Lcblanc,  the  notary-public  before  mentioned,  was  seized,  confined, 
and  brought  away  among  the  rest  of  the  people,  and  his  family,  consisting  of 
twenty  children  and  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  grandchildren,  were  scattered  in 
different  colonies,  so  that  he  was  put  on  shore  at  Xew  York,  with  only  his  wife 
and  youngest  children,  in  an  infirm  state  of  health,  from  whence  he  joined 
three  more  of  his  children  at  Philadelphia,  where  he  died  witho'it  any  more 
notice  being  taken  of  him  than  any  of  ua,  notwithstanding  his  many  years' 
labour  and  deep  siifFcrings  for  Your  Majesty's  service." — Petition  of  the  Aea- 
dians to  the  King. 


< 


&  '^^ 


m 


'vsiih'. 

y/s.— rAGK   18. 

I,  two  hundred 
it  were  landed 
the  AauUans  to 


Page  81. 

ized,  fonfined, 
(/,  coi/yf.sfhiff  of 
"re  scaUcrcd  in 
'i  o)thj  hifi  wife 
ncc  he  joined 
lout  any  nior(> 
;  many  years' 
on  of  the  Aea- 


\ 


%v  their  children 
—Page  39, 

W'ivc3,  some  of 
A  in  the  trans- 
T  down  at  once, 
)cr  neccsciarics, 
iiany  of  whom 
Acadians  to  the 


i 


